Wolf on the Moon
by Talosee
Summary: Seraphita is charged with a secret mission in Gilneas. And soon finds out that she has to handle much more than a few samples. - Yes, M-Rating, you know why...
1. Chapter 1

Hello, everyone.

This is my first story here. Set in the Warcraft-Universe after the Cataclysm.

Since I'm not native to the English language I hope you're forgiving towards all errors in the story – I did my best to correct as much as possible.

The **M-Rating** has its reason and beside of that I just hope you enjoy :)

**Chapter 1**

Phin was at a loss – how did she get into this situation?

One of her hands holding up her woolen robe, the other clutched at a wooden pillar in the middle of the old shack. Her ears were ringing with her own moans and the feral grunts of the worgen behind her – both laced with sex and need.

There was no denying it. The furred beast was sticking its manmeat in and out of her, its heavy sack slapping against her nether folds with that delicious nub of nerves. Whenever he thrust up inside her, she could feel his furred tights rubbing against her bare ones. Her knees were trembling under the assault and she wondered how she could still stand.

Her breasts with their erect peaks were aching for attention, and a clawed hand (paw?) grabbed up to cub it roughly. The other was still on her hips, steading her. How long they were rutting like this she didn't know. She bit her lip, trying in vain to stifle her moans, only to spur the worgen on even more, his cold muzzle pressing in her neck and speeding up.

She was aware of her own body that was more than eagerly welcoming that thrusting pole in her core, grabbing and releasing, massaging the veined shaft of its seed – the very thought of having this beasts semen inside of her scandalized her almost to death, her fleeting attempts to slip out of the worgens grip only resulted in a firmer one and Phin felt her climax approaching, the pitch of her voice rising.

The days beginning had not anticipated any of this…

Not that her mission in itself anticipated anything. Be it her survival or her dignity or the fact, that her brains where very close to be fucked out of her head – or all three at the same time. One of these hands (or paws) with its four long claws at each digit could effortlessly slice her throat!

How, in the name of the Highborn, did she end up here?

Seven weeks ago she was summoned by the warchief himself for a special assignment in the warzone known as Gilneas, or at least what was left of this once proud human kingdom. Garrosh Hellscream, tall and brown with piercing black eyes, suspected treason of his already mistrusted ally Sylvanas Windrunner, ruler of the Undercity, for using a forbidden weapon, a cursed weapon, against civilians in the war.

Phin knew her warchief to be headstrong, proud and not easy to get along with, but there was one simple rule in his reign he would always make his subjects keep in mind: the honor of his people, and of his enemies. Even though he would never hesitate to comp off a humans head in battle, he strictly forbade the use of this weapon – and all intelligence was pointing out just that: Sylvanas had ignored the ban.

And now it was up to Seraphita Moonshadow to uncover one of many ugly secrets within the ruins of Gilneas.

At first sight this was a suicide-mission. Alone in the middle of an active warzone, surrounded by enemies, she was to look for evidence about a biological essence – and there wasn't even proof that she would find anything, or where she should start looking.

Of course Hellscream did not send her with the intention that she would fail, but because he trusted that she was the most likely person to succeed here. As an Ex-Archmage of Dalaran and a High Arcanist of Silvermoon Seraphita was by all means a skilled combatant in battle with experiences that would make even the most fearless warrior pale and shake.

But still, walking through Gilneas all alone with no intention to get in touch with any of the warring parties was still a challenge. The worgen would most probably tear her to pieces and the Forsaken would catch and interrogate her – and since she wasn't supposed to be here anyway there was no way her undead allies would go easy on her… Both situations would end probably in her death, and since these were wartimes that death would be just as ugly as well…

But sometimes things were worth those risks.

And so she had packed up her bags and travelled in secret to the Eastern Kingdoms. To cover up her tracks she had used a boat of the Steemwheedle Cartel to make sure nobody would guess her final destination. And then, after about a week of traveling and detours, she arrived at the southern borders of the Forsaken territory, once known as the kingdom of Lordaeron. It took another week until she landed on the peninsula of Gilneas. She had to swim a lot and climbing over mountains but in the end she stood on gilnean soil.

Still she shivered. Never before did she have to go all alone. No backup, no security… Normally she never did anything without a proper plan, a plan B and a backup plan and another plan if anything went wrong – which had never happened before. And now she found herself being on her own with only her powers, experience, wisdom, her knowledge and her will to get back to Orgrimmar in one piece and with results.

_Well, I've had worse._

Being a mage had certain advantages. For example a space extending spell on her bag which held her complete lab. Before her departure she thought about to take her library along as well but since her mission contained the analysis of contaminated organic samples books would be a nuisance. In her youth she had walked the path of a ranger like her parents, enabling her to avoid patrols and scouts. All in all things were not as bad as she thought previously.

But Gilneas was something else. Gloomy and constantly clouded her mood suffered greatly. Not even nocturnal Ashenvale or bone chilling Icecrown could have affected her spirit like this, transforming her into nervous wreck that looked over its shoulder every now and then. It was raining almost constantly and after only one week in soaking robes she thought about quitting. By the Highborn, never in her life would she have imagined she could miss the sun as badly as now. Not even on the Echo Isles where the Jungletrolls of the Darkspear Tribe (still, they were _Trolls_!) lived could make her feel so awkward… At least they had fine weather if you didn't mind the pressing heat and damp air. Right now Seraphita was yearning for warmth, even if she had to share it with trolls.

Since the curse of the Worgen was unleashed upon the humans of Gilneas the weather and very nature of the peninsula was reacting to it. Not only clouds and rain, even trees and rocks seemed to be depressed, if wood and stone could have any of such feelings. And the survivors were even more affected.

A Gilnean no matter if he was afflicted by the worgencurse or not, looked like a normal human to any member of the other races. But as soon as you would see him next to a citizen of Stormwind, the other human kingdom, the differences became more pronounced: pale and dark, kind of cryptic with the air of arrogance and imaginary superiority. For years the Gilneans had lived behind the Greymane Wall, ignorant against the world outside. Maybe they would have kept it like this for generations to come but the worgencurse changed everything and the Gilneans reluctantly rejoined the Alliance.

The attack of the Horde after the Cataclysm speeded negotiations up as well.

Seraphita was sulking under her hood, her dark hair plastered on her forehead. Stupid war, stupid warchief. If Garrosh wouldn't be such a bloody warmonger to start with, Sylvanas wouldn't have been forced to use the potent plague and she, Seraphita, wouldn't have to hike through the slippery mountainside. By now her knees were sore, and she had already bandaged one ankle after tumbling off a large boulder. And still she gathered her samples, plants and wood, even little stones and pebbles and some critters. Everything could bear traces of the forbidden plague and since Seraphita as a survivor of the Wrathgate who had seen the results of Putress' research first hand she also knew the exact formula.

She wasn't proud of it but as a matter of fact after her people joined the Horde her personal pursue for knowledge had led her deep into the belly of the Undercity to refine her skills as an alchemist. In Quel'Thalas the southern half of the elven kingdom was still polluted by the Scourge, constantly invaded by mindless undead. Seraphita was hoping that her research with the Forsaken would help her finding a way to cleanse the Ghostlands…

But her hopes were scattered rather soon since the Forsaken had no intention of cleansing. As a matter of fact that would be counterproductive for their very existence since cleansing the Scourge would also include their final death. But in the beginning Seraphita ignored those inconsistencies, convincing herself that whatever atrocities the apothecaries created down there was only for the benefit of the Horde and therefore also her people. Even the creation of a plague, that would not only affect the Scourges undead minions but also the living members of the Alliance, had its good reasons.

Until the moment she stood petrified on the outlook, watching down into the valley laid down before the Wrathgate. A silent terrified witness of Putress' betrayal and the horrible results of his highly effective plague. Melting flesh, snapping bones, screeching voices vocalizing their anguish. Even Arthas the Lichking, ruler of the Scourge, had to retreat back into his citadel, having nothing in store against the Potent Plague. But he had survived (as far as an undead could be classified as alive anyway) while no mortal warriors down in the valley had.

Seraphita squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ban all memories of that day from her inner eye. Allies, friends, and enemies alike died a horrible death that day, the Alliance renewed their vigil against the Horde and the Horde itself was scattered from within. Even if Sylvanas was not to blame for the assault (Putress had acted on his own with his demonic ally Varimatras) it was she who had assigned the apothecaries with developing a plague in the first place.

And ever since that day relations between the Forsaken and the other Horde factions were tense at best. Thrall, the former warchief, had banned the Plague developed by the Forsaken and Sylvanas had agreed with him back then. But victory over the Lichking and the new war in Gilneas had apparently changed the Banshee Queens mind. Maybe also due to the fact that Sylvanas would never show Garrosh the same grade of respect as she did to Thrall, but her personal resentments against the Plague were wiped away in the face of the difficulties it took to crash the gilnean defenses.

And here she was now. Little Phin walking through a vicious warzone looking for evidence that Sylvanas had disregarded the ban.

Sometimes she doubted her own brains. She could have just declined the order… or Garrosh could have sent one or ten of his Kor'kron guards with her. – Seraphita sighted deeply. Of course he couldn't: a unit of the warchiefs personal elite force would attract attention of worgen and Forsaken alike. And since her mission was of the secretive sort she couldn't afford detection of either party.

This left her drenched in a soaked cloak and robe with wet hair and chilled to her bones. While she collected one plant sample into a small crystal vial her hands were shaking violently. She had to find cover, now.

Every evening Seraphita had to find a secure place to camp and to build up her lab. She preferred abandoned houses or barns; they were dry and easy to warm up with a spark of magic. By now she had developed into a little expert in hiding and hiking, even though her knees wouldn't agree with that – slippery rocks and that. But she had a knack at identifying suitable dwellings and so far outwitted any pursuer, at least if there was any. If a worgen or Forsaken would have seen her she was sure she would have known. Surely she would notice if a villain would jump onto her…

Today hideout was a little barn. After one hour walking she came upon a deserted farm. She had stayed here before two weeks ago. She never stayed longer than one or two days at one place, since there was a war waging in Gilneas save places to hide were few. So she travelled from one place to the other, rotating between them and gathering her samples on the road. She was well aware that it was risky to visit the same places two or three times (she never made it a fourth) but since it was also inadvisable to overly use magic she had to be careful. Before entering a place she cast a minor spell upon it, revealing to her any humanoid being that would hide in there. Luckily her spell, one of the very few she was using here in the open, had never alarmed her. And once inside she would put protective wards around it, making sure that even if someone would enter while she was inside, he wouldn't be able to detect her.

But first she had to get in there.

She crept closer to the barn, hiding between trunks and bushes. When she came close enough she started murmuring under her breath. The incantation was a simple one, but simplicity was often the most difficult lesson to grasp, Andros used to say.

A few moments later she was inside, biting her lip as she scrambled upstairs to the haystack, her aching ankle protesting. She finally collapsed on the straw, too exhausted to mind her prickly bed. A moment she just lay there, listening to the constant drippy sound of rain on the roof. Blessed be the Gilneans and their non-leaking roofs, she though half serious before straighten up – and freezing in terror.

A sound from downstairs, someone was coming!

Voices, rough jagged voices, rang up to the frozen elf. Seraphitas heart was pounding in her slender chest, her breath caught in her throat. As fast she could she stumbled to the ladder that led up to her hiding place on the haystack – but too late, her heart fell: the barns port opened and two worgen entered. Desperate she bit in her sleeve to stifle her panicked squeals.

"Did you hear that?" The deep voice of a female.

"Yes… maybe a mouse," answered a male one and added mockingly, "It's not like they would feel comfortable in our presence."

The sound of unsheathing steal. "I'm not convinced," growled the female. "Let's check upstairs."

_I'm trapped! They'll gonna find me! I'm dead!_

Purple eyes raced through the barn. Maybe she could fight her way out and use a Teleport spell? But no, there was no way to teleport in or out of an active warzone, attackers and defender saw to that. Killing them? Could work, but they would probably injure her badly enough to rend her unable to continue on her mission. Maybe she would die from infection. _What to do?_

Just a moment before the furred head of the worgen female emerged Seraphita disappeared.

Yeah, cliffhanger! ;) I really hate those in other stories but concerning my own one… well yes, I'm mean sometimes ^.^

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter – and that there were not too much faults in it. I really tried to fix them…

Anyway, I hope you liked it so far ^^


	2. Chapter 2

I wonder if this update is a bit more structured than the last one… In chapter 1 all spaces were gone -.-  
>Anyway, next part is on. I hope you enjoy and, since a couple people here say it: Please "R&amp;R" ;)<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter2<strong>

"Hm…" The female stood strait on the haystack, observing the upper space. "There seems to be nobody." She sniffed the air, identifying many of the odors around her. Dry straw and wet wood, mice in their hidings… and the scent of a humanoid.

"Apparently somebody had been here," reckoned the male who came following up his companion. "And left before us."

"Yes… I wonder when she was here. You think it could be one of them 7th legion?"

Straighten up next to her the male came closer. "Could be." He sniffed the air tentative. "An elf…" He shrugged.

The females snout distorted into a smile as she turned to face her companion. "Well", she cooed, her clawed fingers running up the seam of his leather vest, her silver eyes sparkling in mischief, "It not like we would find out right away, so… Don't you think it's a bit… cool up here? After hours in the rain… and so… wet?"

A grin, matching that of the female, spread on the wolfs face. "Yeah… elves can look after themselves… As for the other thing, I think I have just the way to change something about that…"

The ever changing frontline between the Horde and the Alliance in Gilneas was in itself the only absolute term. A save place could be within your own territory or that of the enemy without you even knowing. But both partisans didn't mind about that now. Their growls and soft yelps were the only audible signs of their presence, no more words were spoken. Clothing was discarded to the wooden floor while two fur-cowered bodies, entangled in each other, dropped onto rough tickling straw. There was no war inside this barn, no undead fiends and no rules. Just two companions finding fulfillment in each other to sate their need in this precious moment. Anything else didn't matter.

If they would have been more aware of their surroundings they might have noticed that they were not as alone as they thought...

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><p>Seraphitas jaw was aching from biting down on her arm. Shaking like a leaf she huddled in the furthest corner of the haystack. She felt scandalized from the display right before her, yet she couldn't tear of eyes from it.<p>

The frown on her forehead deepened, the wetness on it did not only result from the rain anymore. Her concentration was about to slip from her frozen fingers. The sounds of the coupling worgen rang in her ears, boosted by the echoes of the place she hid herself, an empty realm next to the existing one, the border to the non-existing world.

Non-Mages knew that the masters of the arcane could make themselves invisible. But they didn't realize was that meant: To make yourself invisible you had to walk a very fine line, and straying of the course meant returning to the visible existent world at best or slipping away into a realm without light and time, it meant getting lost into non-existence. Seraphita remembered tales of mages of earlier ages who were tumbling off the line, many where never seen again and those few who actually came back were lost in insanity.

Seraphita had never trouble in focusing which was why this spell wasn't so hard for her to perform, though she had to admit that it always held a certain rush of excitement. But right now there was no excitement. To focus on a task ahead was one thing, to focus in the face of two worgen having sex in that very noisy way was something completely different!

She was no virgin nor was she shy around men or women; she was just selective about her partners. But _this_was completely unacceptable! Part of her was terrorized at the unbiased display right before her; the other voyeuristic part stared in fascination at the creatures, shamelessly taking in every single detail. The shade of their fur and how tender those clawed hands were while caressing the other. Unlike humans they didn't sweat and since they weren't able to kiss the other without lips they enjoyed each other's taste by pressing and entangling their tongues.

Involuntarily Seraphitas eyes wandered down to the place where both bodies were united. Blushing furiously she saw the canine member of the male worgen thrusting forcefully into his lover, who whined with each rocking into her core. Smeared with the combined juices of their arousal it was dark pink and veined and while she hid frozen in a place on the brink of non-existence Seraphitas free hand slowly snaked its way down to her crotch. Pressing hard against the fabric of her wet robes she shuddered, biting harder.

Down her midsection she could feel her heat rising. Her own arousal was seeping through her skin and gathering in her moistening nethers. Her whole body was involuntarily heating up with unspeakable desires and she caught herself imagining how the male worgen would pound into her instead of his friend. She tensed up, her fingers pressing harder against her covered nethers, rubbing in vain through the cloth, craving for some friction. Her whole body was working against her now, her breasts started to yearn for a touch and their nipples hardened in excitement, pressing und rubbing deliciously against the rain soaked cloth, making the hapless elf moan into her sleeve.

She didn't know how long she sat there, watching and listening at the worgens unknowingly performance. She almost cried in relieve when she realized that both worgen were about to reach their peak, their movements becoming more frantic. With a howl the male reached his release, buried deep in the female's sex, while she didn't last longer and joined him in his climax, accepting his seed in her belly. Seraphita squealed, she almost couldn't stand watching this. Her eyes were glued at the worgens joining, she saw the twitching bodies and just _knew_how the males semen plastered the female's insides this very moment, imagining again how it felt if she, Seraphita, would be in her place…

_This is torture,_she thought helplessly.

After reaching their peaks both lovers gathered up into the other ones arms, whispering and panting, admiring the afterglow of their climax and were completely oblivious for their surroundings. None of them noticed a soft rustling of straw in the far corner or the creak of the ladder, not even the soundless opening and closing of the barns port.

She didn't regard her environment as she fled from the barn. Seraphita was running like a spooked horse, her hood sailing off her head. Blinding out everything she didn't know how long she ran but all of a sudden she came to a halt, panting hard she leaned against an old tree as reality gave her a brutal slap in the face: _Where am I_?

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><p>Night had fallen and pitch black darkness surrounded her. Her heart was still pounding, her blood rushed in increased speed through her veins, her breath was rugged and shallow. Fear crept up, disabling her to swallow down that knot that had manifested itself in her throat. She was alone in the open, she didn't know where she was. Trembling from exhaustion the cold of her soaked clothes started to creep under her skin again, completely pushing away the heat that had risen due to her involuntarily observation of worgen sexual intercourse. Leaning against a tree a sob escaped her lips which she stifled immediately.<p>

She felt horrible and confused, frightened. She was tired and for once she discarded all caution. Reaching for her bag she pulled out a thick woolen blanket, trembling fingers undone the closings of her cloak and robes which she just discarding next to her. Huddling up naked into the dry blanket she spoke her last spell, warding the little area and slipped into unconsciousness. Fur and claws haunting her dreams until relieving blackness took her.

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><p><em>Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! If you are so eager to get caught then why don't you just walk right into the next camp? It would save us a lot of time and nerves, you stupid little dumbass!<em>

Waking up the next morning after a dreamless exhausting sleep Seraphita didn't waste a second to scold herself. How could she have been so arrogant? She just barely escaped those sex crazed worgen, but how did they came so close to her? – Because she had become arrogant. Arrogant because of her smartness, her cleverness, for always being a step ahead. Never did anyone ever get closer to her than a couple yards, and she always knew her surroundings, always checked everything – and now?

It wasn't only her tiredness that almost gave her away yesterday; it was the simple fact that she let her fatigue forgo security. And it infuriated her!

_This can't happen again,_she swore grimly, rubbing her cold skin in a clear stream.

After waking up before dawn she had laid still, unmoving and frightened, waiting for any pursuer to attack. When nothing happened and everything remained quiet except the lulling sounds of the forest around her, she gathered herself up, stuffed her belongings in her bag and withdrew a dry set of robs and another cloak.

After that messy eve before she was granted with a small degree of luck: next to her campsite was a clear brook. It was chilling but nevertheless she fiercely strode into it, armed with a lump of soap. Her wards were still up and since she had checked them immediately after waking up she felt secure enough despite her nudeness. And she felt the childish desire to punish herself for losing her head… Her teeth clattered, goose bumps covered her arms and legs but she ignored the cold stubbornly. If she would have been smarter yesterday, she thought annoyed with herself, she would be in the barn now, secured by her wards and probably with a warm bath, but no.

While drying and dressing she started her planning. She would have to find a new save place. She had gathered many samples that needed to be checked. Before she could get some new ones it would be better to first check those she already had. Back to the barn was out of the question: two partisans had been too close for comfort and their presence meant that there where most likely many more of them close by. Not to mention certain memories she now had about that place... She bit her lip as an unwanted gush of heat cumulated in her crotch; a glistening cock with a dark sack and surround by black fur filled her inner eye. – Quickly she rearranged her track of thoughts.

So it was better to just get somewhere completely different. That wasn't as easy as it sounded. In her panic she had ran a far distance till she collapsed here in the little clearing. She swore again while brushing her dark locks. Right now she had no idea where she was to start with…

_Maybe that's not such a bad thing…_she mused. She was straying through this country for more than a month now and most of that time she had been dwelling in the northeast. Since she didn't have any information about where or when (not to mention if) the Forsaken had used the plague any area to check was as good as any other. But maybe it was time to go somewhere else… What about the south?

_If you don't know what to do next, break the circle, do something extraordinary. _Her old Masters words rang in her head.

A moment she sat still on the little boulder, lost in thought, calculating her situation, not at all ignorant to the little fear she felt – the same fear she had when she started her mission. She was exhilarated…

Then she straightened up, waved away the wards and strode of southwards. If something bad happens the best thing you could do were learning from it and just go on. She was Seraphita Moonshadow, High Arcanist of Silvermoon and Champion of the Horde. Maybe she would fail her mission but by the Highborn, she wouldn't return empty handed!

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><p>So, next chapter is up. I would like to name them separately but to be honest I have no idea how to do that. Somehow I haven't figured out how this side works… but, well, that no surprise in my case ^^°<p>

I hope you enjoyed this one – third chapter is finished so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Lalilou… Yes, I don't really know what to say right here…

R&R – and enjoy :)

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><p><strong>Chapter3<strong>

Two weeks. Two more weeks with clouds, two more weeks rain, two more weeks creeping cold biting down into her bones. At least her knees had healed and her sore ankle only itched a bit. All in all things hadn't changed much since her rather one-sided meeting with the worgen partisans. But her mood darkened with each passing day, turning her into a numb state of not caring or thinking about anything. Just gathering up her samples and examining them as soon as she would build up her lap – she did her duty for the warchief as expected. Warchief? Who was… oh yes, yes, she knew.

Sighting faint heartedly she gave a short hapless laugh. Sometimes she even forgot her own name… How on earth did the members of the 7th legion put up with this? How could anyone except the worgen endure to even live here? Well, and except the Forsaken of course… But even the woods of Silverpine were much friendlier than this… this… sunless hellhole.

She groaned. She even lost her sense for proper curses… Not that her talents extended to that field anyway, but fighting alongside with orcs and nowadays goblins one got himself a nice set of nasty and mean curses… Sometimes a nicely placed curse just made you feel better.

_Spoken as a real elf, Phin_, she mocked. _Especially considered the fact that our language does not include any curse…_

The gloomy landscape around her was as depressing as usually and if she remembered that rag of a map right, the Kor'kron spymaster showed her back in Orgrimmar, then she had to be close to a place called Stormglen Village. On her way she had come closer to the gilnean defenders than she felt comfortable with and Gilneas City loomed in the distance like a huge giant eying her every move. It was kind of unnerving, the idea a city was watching you, but after weeks in this cursed country Seraphita was close to just believe anything…

Stormglen was an abandoned place. During the first siege on Gilneas the refugees had gathered here. And while the war waged on and the Gilneans were forced to evacuate, many of their unoccupied settlements became deserted. On one hand she felt ashamed that these peoples, enemies or not, where chased way – as a bloodelf she knew the feeling of homelessness. But right now the thought of a nice little house was a pleasing one. Maybe if she could relax here for a few days so she could regain some of her original vigilance.

Cheered a bit she strode off, staying in the shades of the crumbled trees. Was it her imagination or did those plants really have eyes…? And wasn't that the sound of clashing blades? – Wait, _what_?

Pressing herself deeper into shadows she listened into the dark. The fighting came closer, howls and gurgled voices reached her: a skirmish between worgen and Forsaken. _Brilliant._ – She cursed under her breath and just like a few days ago in the barn she disappeared – this time without any trouble with her focusing. Closing her eyes she waited in silence.

The fighting took a couple of hours, sometimes worgen partisans or Forsaken deathguards stumbled past her, barking orders or just fleeing, summoning reinforcements or healers. It started raining again; it felt strange to feel the cold drops fall through her hidden body. As the noise ebbed away into distance she looked up, staring into the forest of Blackwald.

She should get going; she should get into one of the empty houses and secure it with her wards. After that she would be save. Curiosity drove her as she rose slowly and wandered carefully in the direction from where she supposed the noise of fighting had come from.

Even as a seasoned warrior of the Horde it was disgusting to look at the scene before her: countless broken bodies, worgen and Forsaken alike, blood plastered the forest ground, its scent filling her nostrils with the stench of rotting flesh of dead Forsaken. When they were alive (alive in a sense, at least) they smelled not so different from their living counterparts. Spicy and like damp moss, Seraphita knew that they had ways to cover up the smell of their own decaying bodies. But this protection faded as soon as the Forsaken died and right now Seraphita was chocking, pressing her sleeve against mouth and nose.

Apparently the Forsaken had left this place victoriously. The uniforms of their warriors lacked the signets on their chest plates – they were needed to count the losses. The worgen would have taken their fallen with them, not allowing any of their comrades being stolen by the enemy. Seraphita couldn't blame them; she had witnessed what happened to the leftovers of the Forsaken war machine…

This was the first time she came upon a war scene here in Gilneas, she had been rather successful in avoiding them, and the brutality shocked her. Sure, Horde and Alliance both excoriated each other, betimes both sides fought dirty, but this… She swallowed hard. _This is monstrous_! _And… sad. Just as sad as all wars are._

The moment she turned a soft sound reached her sensitive ear. Spooked she whirled around, staring wildly on the field. There it was again – she wasn't mistaken. A soft whine, a sound people made unconsciously while their spirit was already slipping away. When they were in unspeakable pain and relieved in accepting death as a final liberation.

If there weren't those spasms of his distorted limps she wouldn't have found him. While common sense told her insistently to get away something else drove her on. The source of the heart wrenching sound was a worgen. His fur and tattered clothes were blood drenched, except that he was a male there wasn't much else she could make out of him. Looking at the many Forsaken corpses that littered the ground around him he had his fair share of killings. It almost looked like the Forsaken where ambushing a smaller group of partisans…

Reaching under her heavy cloak she grasped for her dagger. She should release him from his misery… right? Stepping closer she kneeled down. He was as good as dead already, why stretching his pain? What was that? His wounds were oozing… _He's poisoned_.

Leaning closer she sniffed at the greenish liquid that was mingling with the man's blood. Yes, it wasn't the poison rogues were using; it was something the Forsaken had created for their own warriors. A certain subliminal scent, like a pattern she knew all too well from her time in the Apothecary. This worgen wasn't dying from injuries but from the poison. Her previous assumption seemed to be a close one: this looked very much like an assault if not an ambush then a accidental clash.

One more reason to finish him, right? The Forsaken still were her allies, and though some of them were real evil, many of them were… well, normal. Normal with their flaws and desires, their fears and good will and all other things that define peoples character. Just because their bodies often lacked parts and bits didn't mean they couldn't feel, at least mentally. And if they came to the conclusion this worgen and his friends were a danger for the Undercity and therefore the whole Horde…

* * *

><p><em>I should stop thinking<em>, she thought sorely. No matter to which conclusions she came and what made sense, in the end she bowed to her waywardness – and no matter how much she studied and worked this waywardness never made any sense and was often downright stupid. _I'll check that out later._

After ensuring that he wouldn't die under her hands she hoisted him up and carried him to Stormglen. Of course she used a bit of magic for this task, a small voice in her head scolding her relentlessly the whole way. She couldn't blame it, in fact she was perversely thankful: it made sure that at least part of her wasn't corrupted by her stubbornness.

Lowering the worgen carefully on the ground she frowned. But why did she do this then? If she knew by heart that it was against all standards, that it was treason against her faction, that she was betraying her friends and all others who trusted her… Why did she still do this? – _Because_ – she pressed her lips together, staring grimly – _I wouldn't want to die like this. There are things more important than vows and loyalties._

The house she had chosen was small. A staircase in the back led up into a second story, under it a bed. Next to it was a fireplace (she would enchant it to make sure nobody would see the smoke rising) with a large carpet in front. The table opposite to it was large enough for her lab. A backdoor led into some kind of cooking room that the former inhabitants also used as a bathroom: a large bathtub stood against the wall. _Large enough for an unconscious worgen to sit and for a tiny elf to lie in_, she thought delightfully.

But first things first. With the wards placed she let the worgen settle into a sturdy chair, his head rolling back. His breath was as foul as his oozing wounds, she had to hurry. Quickly she opened her bag, pulling out a couple of vials with liquids and powders. With a wave of her hand her lab settled itself onto the table, ready for use. With the readied potions she started with practiced hands the creation of a new tonic. It didn't take long before she turned back to her patient who hadn't stirred a muscle.

She slowly pried his jaws open, carefully avoiding his long teeth. Drop by drop the prepared potion crept down the muscled neck. Since the poison didn't had much time to infest the system she felt rather sure she could heal it…

The Forsaken were masters when it came to creating poisons – especially those that were immune against healing spells… But as a verified ex-member of the Apothecary she knew the ways of how to dilute those deadly poisons. It would take a few days to strengthen the body and its natural defenses and the same time cleansing the system but as a good potion master she knew that patience was just as important as the right medicine.

And just as expected her tonic was showing progress: The worgens breathing deepened and his pain twisted face relaxed slightly. It would take some more sessions until the poison was completely cleansed out of his body but by now he would at least survive…

_Holy crap, what have I done?_

* * *

><p>Unlike her previous impression when she looked upon the battlefield her wolf didn't have any broken bones – fools luck… aside from the poison. His hopelessly messy and filthy fur was sticky from blood and hardened in places. His leather clothes hadn't fared any better: torn and rugged, his attackers had put the poor material through hard times. Beside its hopeless condition she could still identify the leather as well-crafted and adorned with fine stiches. Sighting she took up her dagger, the breeches were stuck; carefully to not cut into flesh she cut away the single parts of the filthy leathers.<p>

Her cold hands working fast and precise, her delicate fingers flicked around, grabbing and hooking the loosened pieces away. Performing her hover spell a second time she lifted the limp body up and guided it to the little bathroom. It would take time to dissolve the dirt – warm water to start with would do.

After filling the tub with water and heating it up, she carefully lowered her wolf into the clear liquid – it wouldn't be so clear anymore afterwards… As he lay smoothly in the water she got the impression he relaxed a bit more. Yes, the magic of hot water… With a scarf she secured him to make sure he wouldn't drown while she would take care of herself in the other room – the thought of disrobing in front of him, unconscious or not, made her cringe.

After her work with her wolf (and why did she refer to him as "her wolf"?) she felt exhausted. Her tension claimed its toll over her. After lighting a crackling fire she opened her robes with shaking hands, her stiff arms fighting her every move. _Crap, crap, double crap!_ Her wolf had been strained with dirt when she found him, but she didn't look much different: Her leather boots showed more mud than anything else, the rim of her robes was torn and dirt was crawling up high over her knees, making the fabric stiff and brittle. How had she been able to even move in this?

As much she would love to hop in the tub with fresh hot water, with soap and oil afterwards, her wolf still claimed to be her number one priority over her own wellbeing. She slipped into a warm woolen gown and stumbled into the other room where her wolf sat still motionless in the tub. His fur thoroughly soaked she could finally make out its color, a soft greyish brown. Somehow she was sure he would be black…

Emptying the tub and refilling it again she added soap to it. Scrubbing firmly she was delighted to see the dirt leftovers float away with foam as she emptied one bucket after the other over him, carefully not to let the water run into his mouth and nostrils. When she was finished she lifted him out again, drying him and guiding the floating body back to the main room where she settled him on the ground. He didn't have many deep wounds and thanks to her first aid on the battlefield she had eased the worst of it. Mayhap bandages in combination with herb packs would do the trick…

His shoulder had one deep cut and his torso, arms and thighs held a series of slashes. Seraphita was relieved, none of the wounds seemed to be infected. Stamped herbs, mixt with a bit lotion, were wrapped into thin fabric and pressed onto the wounds. They should absorb any taint left and support the mending.

Finally finished she looked down at him uncomfortable, nervously nibbling her lip. Even cleaned up she couldn't see if he was really all right. Her tonic was fighting the poison but even with the herb wraps other infections that could have gotten into his system were still dangerous. But those were worries for tomorrow, now it was her turn. Lifting him carefully onto the large bed under the stairs she covered him with as many blankets she could manage. Hopefully he wouldn't get any fever; somehow he was strangely warm…

Pondering a moment she rushed back to the bathroom and exchanged the water again, rustling out of the dress she didn't waste another second and lowered herself into the tub. Sighting in bliss she settled slowly, just now acknowledging her aching muscles. Stress, confusion, her riven thoughts…

Sighting she dived under the surface. She really had to come to terms with herself.

* * *

><p>Eureka! Third chapter! ... Really, it would be helpful to hear another comment about it than my own brain ^^°<p>

Anyway, yes, I'm aware that it's kind of a cliché to write about faction-race-crossover couples but, well... I had to do something with my toons - and besides, elves and humans had relations (and marrige) among each other for centuries ;) Let's see if it is convincing in the end.


	4. Chapter 4

I guess, I could upload faster... who knows ;)

I find it hart to break up the story into chapters since I write the whole thing through without halts. But then again they help to get a structure in it... well, at least thats what I hope I achieved here...

Anyway, next chapter is up - enjoy and R&R :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter4<strong>

Soap and warm water did the job for her. With each passing minute she felt more like an elf and less like a mud worm. When she first stepped into the tub she still felt the clinging of her soaked travel robes on her skin, but now that feeling was completely gone.

When the skin on her finger tips started to ripple, she remorsefully left the tub. With hard rough strokes she dried herself; her skin became red under the treatment. After slipping into her woolen gown she shuffled to the main room. Who ever lived here before they probably left in a rush: every piece of furniture was still at its place, and in the bathroom a large stack of firewood waited. If she wouldn't be so exhausted she would thank them in spirit. But now she felt like she could drop and fall asleep right there; her wolf was sleeping fast, he probably wouldn't notice if she stole herself next to him…

She groaned – no way! Shuffling up the stairs she searched the wardrobe and chest for something to build a nest. Tumbling back downstairs loaded with pillows and blankets she just flung her booty before the fireplace, arranging it provisionary. _After this it's time for a long, long vacation_, she thought while nestling herself into and under the sheets. _And a brain re-modeling, arguing with oneself is exhausting…_

* * *

><p>When next morning she woke up she couldn't believe it: a ray of sunlight broke through the window and right into her eye (and was in fact responsible for her to wake up anyway). Jumping up she had to get a grip on herself to not race outside and leave the protection of the wards, so she just stood at the window and enjoyed the little breach between the clouds.<p>

How long had she been here? One month? A year? Her whole life? – It was hard to tell. Until now every day had been the same: the same activities, the same surroundings, the same weather… The only thing that could surprise her had been the rain. Sometimes with heavy drops, then mist like haze, then it came from the side instead from above, and then it didn't came at all. To count days or weeks was a confusing business if there wasn't any variety to keep the days in mind.

She sighted heavily, turning side warts to finally regard her worgen. She hadn't forgotten about him – how could she? Yesterday certainly was a day to keep in mind. He hadn't moved or anything, he laid almost in the same position in which she left him yesterday for her bath…

Frowning she stepped closer, crossly folding her arms.

"Alright, buddy. Just so you know: I know how to recognize real from faked sleeping. So do both of us a favor and don't even try."

A groan answered her before his eyes fluttered opened, straining against heavy lids. "It's not like… I'd want to trick you." The voice was rough and deep, yet barely more than a whisper.

Phin held her arms tightly, those eyes unsettled her. They didn't glow, they were liquid gold. She forced herself to keep her breath evenly before saying: "Well, since you are awake… how are you feeling today?" _Don't forget to breath, dummy…_

Her breathing eased a bit when those eyes fell closed again. But an answer wouldn't come. She waited a few moments but since he didn't stir anymore and his shallow breathing the only sound she relaxed slowly. Letting go of her arms, which felt slightly numb, she stepped closer. He had slipped away into unconsciousness. Maybe he had been awake but his strength wasn't enough for talking. _Well done, Phin…_

Apparently the apothecaries have renewed their poison. To make sure a victim wouldn't survive an infection the poison didn't only affect the organism but more seriously drained the body's defenses. You could call Forsaken many names, but inefficiency wasn't among them. They definitely didn't waste any time to get rid of their enemies to achieve their goals…

They got rather annoying.

Brushing her teeth and splashing her face she silently summering up the next steps. She had to make a second tonic for her patient, and she had to make sure it wouldn't interfere with the former one she made yesterday. Then she had to organize some substance.

Just yesterday there was a large battle not so far from her little hideout; it would be unwise to go out hunting right away. And beside of that it was also possible that search parties would look for their fallen comrades, maybe even looking for her wolf in specific. – She cast an uneasy glance to the sleeping worgen. Yes, it was very possible…

She could gather her stuff and make a run for it. Then they would find and tent to him and she would just get herself a new hideout. But how big where the chances that the Alliance alchemists knew the right formula that would restore him? As far as she knew the Alliance had pretty good potionmasters but truth be told in comparison with an apothecary of the Undercity they were just barely more than amateurs – and in no way able to save her wolf.

She groaned. In a word, she was bound to her patient. _Great work, Phin, well done_, she thought sorely. Not to mention the fact that it was very possible that her patient could try to attack her as soon as he was better. And even in a weakened state she didn't have any doubt about his ability to seriously harm her, maybe even to kill her… He was so much taller than her, and those muscles were trained for melee combat and not just for showing off. Not to mention his weight which he could use to knock her off balance.

_Don't craze yourself_, she scold herself. _You're a bloody good mage and within the wards you can use almost all your defensive spells!_ – Relaxing she leaned back against her table-lap. Yes, that was true. Sure, he probably was an excellent fighter (or maybe not, but she should assume the worst) but she was a brilliant mage, and in top form. So if he wanted a little tumble with her, she thought grimly, then she would make sure he wouldn't forget about it.

"What are you thinking about?"

Yelping she stumbled upright before glaring at the worgen – only to see that he had his eyes closed. He was awake, but even though he didn't see he could still hear and smell everything around him. Probably her pounding heart and cold sweat, too…

"What…?" she asked defiantly.

"You seem to be rather… uncomfortable," he breathed.

She gave a rough laugh. "Why… why would I feel so?" she asked defensively. _Beside the fact that I should have killed you instead of healing you, that is… And, oh yes, that I'm a bloodelf in your territory, in your Alliance territory, which means we're total enemies and you should jump and attack me right now –_

"I do not know," he simply answered, one of his eyes opening slightly, regarding her thoughtfully. "I have to admit I feel… confused. After all I didn't expect to be saved by a bloodelf… Then again" – his eye fell shut – "I didn't expect to be saved anyway…"

"Oh," she said warily; so he was aware of this awkward situation… "Well… if you say so… And how do you feel right now? Any specific pain or… so…? Apparently yes since you're sleeping again…" He had drifted off another time. It was really annoying that he ended every conversation by dozing off – if you would call them 'conversations' anyway. But at least she had an idea of his condition: a weakened state which wasn't caused from his injuries alone.

Coming closer she carefully touched his forehead. He was warm, warmer than a normal body should be, but it seemed to be no fever – maybe worgen had a warmer body temperature… Good news, so her herb wraps have done the job. Just his weakness was troubling. His wounds though deep weren't life-threatening anymore, he should be able to recover on his own from now… But with Forsaken poisons nothing went normal.

Determined she returned to her table-lap and started to make another potion. Since hunting was out of the question she had to rely on her ability of conjuring food and make the best of it. Healing him didn't only include potions but also substance, he had to eat normal food.

Her finished tonic in her hand she returned to her wolf, slightly shaking him. "Hey, wolf?" she asked softly. "Are you awake?" A groan was her answer. She swallowed and reluctantly leaned closer. "Listen, wolf, I have a tonic here. It will cleanse the poison out of your body. Please hold still. It will taste bad but it'll help." Another groan, then a little nod.

Breathing heavily she put the tonic aside the bed and carefully rolling the worgen on his back, straighten him up with some pillows from her nest for more comfort. "And… do not try to bite me…" she added nervously.

He didn't bite her, in fact he didn't do anything; his face didn't even distort due to the taste. Medicines mostly tasted horrible, she knew, and funny enough poisons could taste rather deliciously… She watched him swallow her drug before she turned again, preparing a strengthening potion with her swift hands.

"Here goes another one," she said softly when she sat down next to him. "Don't worry, this one tastes better…" She didn't get an answer. Slowly she repeated the former process. _What are those guys doing with these teeth?_, she thought irritated, starring at the canine daggers rising out from between his lips. Swallowing hart she couldn't prevent unwanted pictures of these teeth biting down into her flesh… into her shoulder… while standing right behind her… pressing his chest against her back… and…

_Oh, please!_

Rising hastily she fled back to her table-lab. Why did she have those thoughts? Was she really so desperate with sexual need that her brain felt the need to create those fantasies? _I have to get out of here_, she thought. Grabbing into her bag she took out a new set of robes and a cloak. It didn't look like her patient would wake up anytime soon again. And she had to get food, right? Security be damned, she would go hunting!

* * *

><p>Sighting she lay back into her little nest. The hunting had been good: seven rabbits. She wasn't a skilled hunter but thanks to her patience her efforts were often regarded with success. Back after a few hours she prepared a soup in the next room, cooking the rabbit's tender flesh and adding some spices she always had in store.<p>

She loved cooking. Creating something just because it tasted nice was rather satisfying, and if others liked the creation it felt even better. – Adding potatoes and vegetables which she found only a few yards farther in a neglected garden she left the stew and returned to the main room, exchanging her dark robes with the woolen dress. She would check her bag today; though she could conjure clean clothing and food out of thin air it was always better to rely on existing material and substance.

She loved the hugging feeling of her simple dress, being able to rest in a save place was something she came to acknowledge again every time she could change into the soft fabric. The last two weeks since the barn she had been forced to camp in the open a many times. It wasn't too bad though, she kept telling herself; it was uncomfortable on the unyielding ground, yes, often damp or wet, not to mention that it was rather cold here in springtime…

By the Highborn, she was glad to be an alchemist _and_ a mage: firstly she always had the right potions within reach just in case she would catch a cold. And secondly she could warm herself up. Though she preferred to do everything without the use of magic the conditions were often enough unfriendly, so she had do adapt. But with the forced spars use of magic it was hard to strive through these lands, much more so since she had to keep herself a secret.

She sighted heavily. Well, she wasn't a secret anymore, she thought while regarding her sleeping wolf. And she could only rely on his goodwill. Would she be able to kill him if he didn't agree to not mention her to his superiors? Would she even be strong enough to best him if he would turn hostile? – She wouldn't poison him, no way! She was an honorable member of the Horde and even if he would attack her she wouldn't fight dirty.

Looking thoughtfully now she slowly shook her head. No, she didn't think he would attack her. People as weak and sick as he was now didn't have the strength left to fake their feelings and intentions. If he would think of her as his enemy he would regard her with much less… less what? The two times he was as awake he was neither friendly nor foe to her, he had treated her almost like a member of his own faction… And he had done so while perfectly aware that his doctor was a bloodelf.

But how did he feel towards her? Or did he feel anything at all? Maybe he just acknowledged her to be his unsuspected savior for the moment, and later when he grew in strength and health he would rethink their situation – in fact she did the same: just waiting, and hoping that everything just went well, right?

One thing though was perfectly clear: as long as he wasn't hostile towards her, she wouldn't let any harm come to him as long as he was in her care. What he did or decided to do after they would part on their different paths would be up to him.

Pleased for once with her conclusions she returned to the bath- and cooking room, checking her stew.

"I hope you're hungry, wolf," she said when she came into the main room, holding two big bowls of stew. Two golden eyes opened to slits regarding her but he didn't speak. "Can you eat on your own or do you need help?" She felt comfortable in her role as a nurse maid. Yet she was also quite sure that he didn't like to be looked after, much less to be fed by a member of the opposite faction. But this was only between the two of them so why bother?

He didn't answer her question, just sitting half upright while she settled down next to him on the rim of the bed. Apparently he shared her ordeal about his state of health: he didn't fight her when she passed him a spoonful of stew. They sat in silence; she first saw to it that he would finish his bowl and then gave him some of her conjured bread. Though still only half conscious he ate it without her help so she could tent to her own growling stomach.

It was kind of surreal. In the middle of the probably most brutal warzone in Azeroth, two members of opposite factions sat there in a little house, accepting each other, yet perfectly aware of the fact that they were by all standards enemies by heart. Since her people, the blood elves, were of all Horde races the closest allies of the Forsaken, it would be logical if her wolf would regard her with distrust as least.

Yet he didn't.

* * *

><p>The evening ended in the same silence. After eating she started to clean her traveling robes, putting the tub into the main room to keep her half waking patient company. Rubbing dirt out of the fabric, massaging soap into it and rinse it afterwards. All the while she was aware of those golden eyes which once in a while opened to follow her movements.<p>

She felt a bit unnerved by them, a slight throbbing rose up but kept itself low for the moment. And on the other hand she also felt reassured and save. Humming a thalassian lullaby she dried her robes magically, reaching for needle and thread and started to mend flaws and rims. She was just as less a tailor as she was a hunter but if she knew how to sew body parts and clashes then it wasn't too hard to repair some torn robes. Any other mage would have done that by magic; maybe it was her heritage as daughter of rangers, born and brought up in the forest, but she felt content every time again she worked with her hands instead of manipulating the arcane currents to do her bidding.

Though she had spent almost two months in Gilneas this evening was the first she actually felt alive. Secretly she was grateful to her wolf; his company was more than just a coincident to her. His presence was like the little sunlight that very morning, its rays beaming away her stress and angst, wiping away the clouds which had infested her mind for so long she sometimes thought they were a part of her.

Somehow she wished she could master the courage to ask him his name... just his name. And yet she knew she couldn't: if they would start questioning each other they would reach automatically those topics they couldn't talk about. She was bound to keep her mission a secret…

Frowning she looked over to her table-lap. Except for making medicines for her patient the set had been unused. She had forgotten about her samples!

Straighten up she was fully awake again. How could she have forgotten about it? About the very reason why she was here in the first place, why the warchief mistrusted the Banshee Queen, why… Why did it feel so distant?

Garrosh and his suspicions and thrive for prestige. Sylvanas and her new sisterhood. The blood elves, verified arcanists and yet powerless to exert influence in their own territory. They and all others seemed far away, like a part of another lifetime, as if it was part of another one's life and not hers…

Exhaling slowly she settled back into her nest, not noticing a pair of golden eyes which had opened immediately the moment she rocked up. She… would just do her job then. And didn't she want to take a rest for a few days? – Tucking the sheets of her nest over her she pondered in silence. What about her nameless wolf? What would she answer him if he would ask about her lab? Just telling him to mind his own business…? Lying? Saying it was just a bit research about local herbs?

_Don't fool yourself, Phin_, she thought, already drifting away. _Not even a blind cow would believe you that…_

* * *

><p>The next morning was mostly uneventful. After providing her wolf with her two potions and a little breakfast she turned back to her lab. Putting out her samples she started her silent analysis. Her wolf didn't say anything the whole day, he was better though and she would check his wounds by noon. But for now there was silence as if her patient knew somehow that she didn't want to talk about this lab or what she did with it.<p>

Seraphita was tense while standing at the table, mixing the samples with other liquids to extract their components. After the first few examined samples without him saying a word she relaxed a bit. It was definitely easier to focus if one's mind was not occupied by disturbing thoughts about what to answer if he would ask about the one thing she couldn't talk about.

While yesterday the weather was friendly (friendly according to gilnean standards) today it was dark and clouded. A heavy storm was coming. Maybe she should take advantage of these rainless moments to go on a hunt again – her stew would last for today. She had found a real treasure in this abandoned house, her assumption that it was left in a hurry became starkly obvious: in the bath- and cooking room she had found some supplies in a cupboard. Cheese and dried fruit was there, and in the far corner a wine barrel. Not much, but perfect to freshen up their rations. And there were a few vegetable gardens here in the village.

But as great as her discovery was it didn't fool her; she and her patient had to live on these supplies for a couple of days to come until her wolf was healthy again. And she wanted to take some of it with her when she would continue her mission. So she should ration it with care.

But still, it would be unwise to rely on it. She would go hunting today.

Nodding to herself she looked up at her wolf. She couldn't prevent a smile when she met his calm gaze. He had been watching her for a while it seemed. Though still unable to get up on his own (she had helped him that very morning to tent to himself) his condition had improved greatly.

"Hungry?" she asked.

His mouth twitched slightly, than he nodded.

"Then I'll warm up the stew. And after that I'll check the bandages; I have to change them. How do they feel anyway now?" She hadn't asked about his wounds earlier. Yesterday had been in vain since he was dozing off every now and then, unable to even answer a simple question. Today it was different and after a hearty breakfast and a bit stew she felt save enough to examine them now – and to get an answer from him.

"They feel all right, thanks to you," his voice was still a rough whisper, yet he could keep his eyes open more easily. "But I think the one at my shoulder is in a poor state. I can feel it throb…"

She frowned. "That doesn't sound good," she mused, walking over to his bed. "Does it hurt already? It could be infected…" While talking she cut away the bandages, baring his torso and limbs.

The clashes on his torso had healed quite well, she observed pleased. Another bandage with herbs would heal the worst, the rest would heal on its own – they were already closing. Looking at his shoulder things didn't look so well anymore: the deep gash was slightly swollen and reddened at the edges, yellowish pus oozed up smelling foul. Swallowing hard she looked up at him, her stomach churning. "You… this is bad. You should have told me earlier… I mean, it is… this can get really, _really_ bad… It could result in blood poisoning…"

He looked away. Did she embarrass him? Oh yes – she bit her lip – how could she blame him? The whole day she was determined to get on with her stupid samples…

"It's not so bad," he said then. "It doesn't really hurt…"

Shutting her eyes she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said with a tiny voice. "I should have checked that earlier today before… before working. And you have a fever, too. You are too warm anyway since two days now…"

He shook his head, looking back at her again. "A worgens body heat is higher than a humans. I have a bit fever, yes, but it's not so bad that I couldn't wait a few more hours."

Examining his shoulder again she poked it carefully. He didn't flinch under her treatment, but it really smelled bad. Biting her lip she faced him. "I have to wash this out with clean water. It… it'll hurt… I would like to stitch it but since it seems to be cankerous we have to rely on the herb packs…"

"Don't worry, little elf," he said, smiling his wolfish smile. "I can handle a bit pain. Like I said before" – his claw softly stroking her cheek – "I didn't expect to survive two days ago. To sit here and live is much more than I thought to experience in this life…"

She didn't back away from his tender touch. How could someone with those claws be so nice? But then again… hadn't she already witnessed how tender these hands could be… back than in the barn…?

"Can you walk?"

"I think so, yes."

* * *

><p>She prepared the bath tub with a few quick spells, filling in hot water and helping her wolf into it. Adding dried herbs, lavender and salvia among them, a soothing scent spread through the room and the house.<p>

Seraphita worked carefully and fast as usual. Though her wolf didn't flinch she knew all too well how much pain it was when she poked and squeezed against the edges of his wound, massaging his shoulder and arm to press out any remaining pus. Washing of it off every time she resumed the procedure a couple of times until nothing of the bad-smelling ooze emerged again. When she was done she felt her heart clench: her wolf had never showed her any sign of discomfort but now, after an hour of treatment in the heated water, he was exhausted.

Helping him out of the tub she guided him back to the main room, drying his fur with a quick spell. His wound didn't bleed or ooze anymore, his flesh was light pink now like it should be but she wasn't reassured. After she lowered him on his bed she quickly prepared some new herb packs. Four quickly attached at his side and left arm, the last one on his shoulder. The cooling herbs stinging at first then she could see how he relaxed – she hadn't recognized how tense he had been the whole time.

As soon he resettled in a half sitting position, eyes closed, she hurried back to fetch a bowl with stew.

"I know you're probably not up to it now," she began, sitting down next to him, "but you need to eat something… or drink it at least…"

He didn't answer but nodded slightly; his hands were steady as he took the bowl and began to drink – at least his strength was returning. Finally finished he settled back, too tired to do anything more. Quickly she discarded the bowl and returned to her lab, mixing the two tonics before returning to him.

"Wolf," she started softly. "I know you are tired but please drink this first. Then I won't bother you anymore…"

His eyes fluttered. "You do not bother me, little elf," he whispered.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was silent again. Outside the sky was darkening still, almost becoming pitching black. Phin had lost her appetite after the rather stressful events with her wolf. Brewing some tea she abandoned her work at her lab, settling in her nest.<p>

He was so… so nice to her. Why? Out of gratitude or caused by his weakness she couldn't tell. She had expected him to be more indifferent towards her, neutral. But he treated her as is she was an ally, a friend. When he had touched her with the back of his finger her first reaction was panic. But the next had startled her: she wished he had touched her with his whole hand.

Thinking back at this smallest touch she felt her warmth rising – and strange enough it didn't bother her anymore. What had changed?

It was his reaction, the way he looked at her. Observing her every move and look, and yet with the warming sensation of real tenderness. She was well aware that this gratitude was likely limited to the moment he was fully recovered. But would it really end than? Or would his sympathy (if it was sympathy) extend beyond his recovery? And what did that mean to her, and her mission?

Sighting she took sip of her still hot tea. She had to remind herself that she was in a save hiding, undetectable, but everything around her was hostile. In the first place she had come here because she was assigned with an important mission, from the warchief himself. And it was impossible to decline the order: denying Garrosh would be treason. He was the warchief; in fact, he was the Horde. And she was part of the Horde. Garrosh had chosen her to do this mission, trusting in her loyalty and her skills to fulfill this task and to bring him the answer to those pressing matters. And she had done well so far. Sure, she didn't get any definite answers so far, but she was still free, and still a secret.

How did her wolf fit into that? She wanted to complete her mission, she wanted to find evidence if Sylvanas had used the Plague or not. And the same time she wanted to have her wolf close with her, his claws and his touch and everything. Her fantasies were more than eager to imagine her in his strong arms, pressing her against his searing body…

_And then?_, she asked herself. _What will happen then?_ She was still a member of the Horde, maybe not an assigned soldier, but given the circumstances that didn't matter. And he was a member of the Alliance, and apparently a soldier given the fact that he was here fighting the invading Forsaken.

Her mission had assigned her here and so it was her duty to fight anyone who saw her. Sure, even Garrosh wouldn't want her to fight a wounded, poisoned enemy; that would be dishonorable. But if he would have found her wolf on the battlefield, he would have done what she initially wanted to do: granting him a swift clean death. But by taking him in, curing his poison and tending to his injuries, she had betrayed her warchief.

'Hellscream is watching you' was the new credo of the horde. Would he know what happened here? What she had done?

Sighting she put away her mug of tea, hearing the distant thunder. There was no way to solve this mess of arguments in her head. She was, no, she wanted to be an honorable member of the Horde, but the thought of parting from her wolf...

* * *

><p>As the storm was tearing at the house a very lonely elf dozed off. When she woke up again the next morning her head was aching. But said lone elf didn't have a clue of how to proceed further.<p>

She hugged her tucked up legs, resting her chin on her knees. Again her thoughts whirled around about the same topic, rotating and circling without getting one step ahead. _I'm not made for this; I'm not a person to make her own decisions…_ Was it so easy to just forget everything in her life for a worgen, a man, she just met? The situation itself wasn't new to her; she had healed dozens of warriors in the field before. Though never assigned to the Hordes armed forces she did whatever she could to help. May it be in Ashenvale or Alterac she was always ready to lend her aid to whoever of her factions would ask for it. So far she had been a good member of the Horde, doing her best to represent her people, upon which many other Horde members still looked with suspicion – for reasonable motives that was.

And now she met this wolf, _her_ wolf, lying broken on the battlefield. She was more than six hundred years old but something like this had never happened to her before…

"You really tent to think too much," the worgen said, passing her her mug with boiling hot tea. "Is that an elf-thing or just with you?"

She blinked. _What the…_ "What the hell are you doing?" she cried. "You're supposed to be…" _Hey, wait a moment…_ "Aren't you supposed to be ill and in bed and resting?" she shot him a suspicious glare; out of instinct she had taken the mug.

"I don't know," he answered evading, sitting down on the bed with his own tea. "I do feel better, though. But you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you. You seemed to need your own rest…"

Composing herself she frowned, nipping at her tea. "You should rest though, too," she insisted. How the hell did heal so fast? How long had he been awake? Had he contacted any fellow Gilneans? Had he tried to send a message? Did he think of killing her? – _Don't make yourself crazy, Phin. If he would try to send a message he would have to leave the wards – and since your wards are foolproof he wouldn't be able to re-enter again. And for the killing – Girl, by the way, you're still alive!_

A little bit reassured by her own reasoning she carefully nipped at her tea, still eying her wolf suspiciously. "And… how is you shoulder?" she asked finally.

"It feels better, thank you." He seemed oblivious to her racing mind. Didn't he feel awkward with an enemy under one roof? Didn't he wish to at least question her, interrogate her about why she was here and why she had helped him? Heaven, he could have bound her hands; surely he knew how to bind a mage to render her unable to use magic…

Apparently he felt the need so he added after a few moments: "My kind is very resistant, and wounds tent to heal faster than normally. But don't ask me why, we haven't discovered that yet."

"Ah yeah," she just said, avoiding his eyes. _You wouldn't tell me anyway if there was an answer, right?_, she thought. But well, she would have done the same. Some information wasn't meant to be known by an enemy, no matter if he was friendly or not.

Strange enough the thought of him poisoning her tea didn't came to her. If he would want to get rid of her, surely he would have found a weapon or anything to finish her… But still… _You have to be more careful, dummy…_

Taking a deep breath she looked up again. "If you… feel to it I would like to check your shoulder," she said, putting away her mug. Freaking out at this point was no use, she told herself. She could ask him all those questions; ask him about any contacts to his comrades, what he intended to do now, what he intended to do with _her_… It didn't look like he would tell her anything… She could make a truth-serum and interrogate him, yes, but what good would that be? He would remember that and would lose any trust he would have. And asking questions wasn't her business anyway… That was it. Sure, she was curious but she was by no means an interrogator…

Nodding at her words he set his own mug aside and didn't move when she uncoiled the bandages, revealing the herb packs and the open wound underneath. A sight of relief escaped her: the shoulder was still open but the edges weren't red anymore and though open the wound itself didn't ooze.

"By the look on your face things seemed to have improved…" the worgen said after a few moments in which Phin surveyed the shoulder.

"Ah… yes, it did." She was a bit startled; hearing his voice so close it was vibrating through her even without touching him. "I think I can suture it now…" She straightened up hastily. He smelled so… She hadn't realized his scent before; now that he was better again he smelled stronger than before, his musk filling her nostrils. It was rich and spicy, slightly biting her stressed senses, engulfing her as if it wanted to occupy her own scent.

"Can I help you…" – "No, no, no, you just… sit there and don't move. You're still ill…" While quickly preparing her tools, her heart drumming in her chest, she realized why she was so nervous: It wasn't the danger, it was their new roles. The cards had been mixed and dealt out again; she wasn't just his nursemaid anymore. And he wasn't only her patient; during the night he had become something else – and she couldn't quite grasp it.

Shaving the fur around the wound she put on a cooling paste that would numb his tactile sense just enough to not feel the pain of her stitching. All the while she was anxious not to touch him, kneeling awkwardly at his side while he seemed to be more than relaxed, unconsciously mocking her tenseness. – It was just bleeding a bit where the golden needle penetrated his skin, but in the end the wound was closed; just a week and the edges would have mended themselves and she could remove the strand. After cleaning her hands and the worgens shoulder with boiled water she rewrapped the wound again with fresh bandages and herb packs.

Returning to her lab she made another potion. Mixing the ingredients, carefully blending them by slowly rotating the vial, she felt calmer again. This was a liberation she was used to, whenever she worked with her lab and potions her mind was focused and free of any disturbances. But the moment she turned back at him her heart skipped a beat.

He was standing now, deliberately ignoring the slight itch of the freshly sutured wound. Though still weakened he was so strong, and so _stubborn_. Three days now he had been ill, two of them close to death and at her mercy. And now he stood upright before her, just as if to say that he could deal with anything from here on…

She hadn't known that worgen had similar self-healing abilities as trolls. Trolls were hart to kill; their healing powers came from the so called Loa, powerful animal spirits the trolls worshiped in their numerous rituals. How did the worgen get these powers? Or was it just their strong spirit, their close connection to the Emerald Dream and the wolf Ancient Goldrinn? – She swallowed hart. Her track of thought came to a stumbling halt as she took him in with wide eyes. She felt the well-known heat rising, her skin tickled till her undeniable arousal seeped down to her midsection, settling comfortable like a predator ready to strike.

_Come on, Phin, what are you doing?_

"Drink this," she ordered hoarsely, passing the vial with potion. "And then you have to rest. I'll fetch you some breakfast." The moment he took the vial she rushed to the other room.

* * *

><p>Break - dead - yeah :D<p>

I do like the couple and all but I hate writing dialogs... And I really hope the whole story is developing in a comprehensible way...

Next chapter will definitely take longer. The end is fixed, I just have to get there O.o


	5. Chapter 5

So, ladies and gentlemen, next chapter is at your disposal.

Originally I just wanted to write a shortstory of what, 10 pages? And I thought it would be easier if I would fix at least part of the end... Well, its not as easy as I thought it would be...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter5<strong>

_This is so embarrassing!_

After fetching him a quickly prepared breakfast she was relieved that he indeed fell asleep afterwards, slumbering peacefully like a derisive mock to her tense nerves.

Settling in her nest she ate some bread and cheese herself. A new mug of tea stood next to her on the floor. She still felt tense. After he laid back for another ordered rest she had waited for him to really fall asleep before she started to check her wards. The ones that would hide them both, the ones that would make the house look untouched, the ones that would give any outsider an unconscious desire to leave… Anyone who would try and enter would see the house the way it was before she came here. Even if she would stand right before them inside the house, the wards where only including those she allowed inside.

But sitting in her nest none of the reassurances could calm her stressed nerves, and her arousal was constantly hiding deep down in her core, just a mere throbbing yet ready to strike. Her nethers were already sensitive and before she could stop herself her mind went back to the barn, back to those two partisans satisfying their need. She could feel how her fluids started to gather down there, her mind spiraling unstoppable to that very point where her arousal focused itself…

_Nonononononooo_… She bit her lip, hissing in bliss as she forced her hands not to settle in her lap. She had to think, she had to plan.

So he hadn't contacted anyone while he was awake. If he had done so he had to leave to protection of her wards and since she hadn't told him he didn't know how to reenter again. So it was simple: he hadn't left at all, so nobody knew they were here. – Next point: He still wasn't hostile towards her. Maybe due to the fact that he wasn't fully recovered yet; or maybe he was truly thankful? Or because he wanted to know more about her and what she was doing here. – That seemed to make sense. From what she guessed so far he was a fine Alliance warrior, one of their soldiers. It was possible that he wanted to find out about her before deciding what to _do_ with her. He must think her to be friendly at best since she healed and took care of him over days; so, she mused, he thought it could help to stay with her a while longer to find out more before he would return to his people…

_And what do I think of this? – I think him to be the hottest piece of male flesh I have seen in all my life!_

"Ooooh!"

_That doesn't help!_

So what? She still didn't wish to fight him (oh, she wanted to do something else to him!), but she also knew that _he_ could decide to fight her. And then she would fight back. She would fight with all her skill and wit to best him, maybe even kill him, depending on his intentions. – Frowning she clenched her fists. Yes, she would fight at her best if he would decide he wanted to capture her or worse, no matter how attractive he was. She had to be on her guard from now on, she would skip sleeping for a few days until they would resolve their situation. She was an elf, a skilled mage, a few days without sleep was no challenge for her…

Chewing her poor lip again she glanced over to her wolfs sleeping form. By the Highborn, she didn't want to fight him, she wanted to –

_No, stop thinking about that!_ – With a jerk she tore her eyes from him, rose from her nest and returned to her lab. Fetching a sample she frowned down at it. She was an adult elf. Maybe she had fantasies but, by the Sunwell, she would master the discipline to focus her mind. Regardless of any throbbing or heat that would divert her.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon when her wolf woke up again. With an appreciating nod she noticed his stronger movements and his improved focusing. He could tend to himself now so while she was still busy with her lab he disappeared into what was now a bathroom again.<p>

The whole day had been very quiet, only the soft tinkering sounds of her lab could be heard and the wind still roamed the streets of Stormglen. Since her arrival in Gilneas it was this silence that had always unnerved her. She missed her friends; she simply missed having company around. But now her worgen was here, and though the circumstances where rather troubling ones (they still were enemies by any definition…) she still enjoyed having him here, just his shear presence.

_I'm not made for this kind of mission_, she thought sighting, putting away another analyzed sample (again without any trace of the Plague). _I… need someone… anyone!_ – Hearing a soft clearing of throat she looked up startled, immediately relaxing as she recognized her wolf who just entered.

How strange. Even though he was a worgen he still was a male human, too, and completely naked, and he didn't bother – and she found it rather odd that she didn't care as well. Maybe because of his fur that was completely covering his midsection… _Yes, that really makes things a lot easier_, she mused for a moment before composing herself again.

"Good evening." A good conversation should start with a greeting, right? "How are you now?"

Rolling his shoulders he seemed to grow before relaxing again, his snout distorting into a reassuring smile. "I feel even better than this morning," he said with his deep voice. "The wound it aching a bit but beside that I feel as good as new." Was it gratitude she thought to make out on his furry face?

Nodding satisfied she slipped past him into the other room which was now a kitchen for her. "That sounds great, wolf," she said. "I'll take a look at your shoulder after you had something to eat." Oh, she felt so giddy, and just because he was finally awake.

Coming back with a tablet with food she discovered him standing before her lab. Her first concern was quickly over when she saw that he didn't look at the many vials and tubs but that he was staring outside the window into growing darkness, his brow deeply frowned. When he didn't look back at her nor saying anything did she lower the tablet on the ground, joining him in his silent vigil…

"Is everything alright?" she asked, a little bit awkward now.

He slowly looked down at her – damn, he was tall… Regarding her thoughtfully he said: "I was just wondering…" He definitely liked to stretch his words, she thought impatient. "It's rather well enlightened in here… but there is nothing outside that is illuminated by it." Her gaze followed his outstretched claw and swallowed.

Yes, she knew now what he meant: due to her wards no light from the inside reached out, there were no reflections on the ground.

"Is it anything I should worry about?"

"Well… no, that's nothing to worry about…"

"Would you answer me if I would ask?"

"No."

* * *

><p>Well, that little dialog went better than it could have turned out. He didn't try to get any answers from her, didn't fish around the subject. During their meal nor afterwards he also didn't mention anything and he went back to bed without saying anything else. Still, somehow she felt bad. Wasn't it natural for him to ask?<p>

_Don't think about it_, she scolded herself again. _There are some things you just can't share with him_… But… nobody else, not even from her own faction, knew how she created her wards. Of course, every Mage who passed a certain level felt the urge to protect his belongings and developed a set of enchantments that would protect those. Be it that they were invisible to others, or they were hidden in a parallel dimension, opening only to the one, who opened it initially.

So wards always depended on those, who created them, and for what they were used. In Phins case they were rather powerful ones, she admitted to herself, being a little bit proud of her own work. The little house would appear to anyone, who came close from the outside, as if it hadn't been entered for months, abandoned like all the other houses in Stormglen. They could enter the house, but they wouldn't be able to see her nor the changes she had caused this place like her nest, the lab or the happily cackling fire. Her wards worked like a little parallel box, and everything that happened inside was veiled from other eyes. – Other mages just strengthened their doors or locks or placed magical guardians around them… but they too fulfilled their purpose successfully.

_So_… she pondered, looking over to his sleeping form, it couldn't do any harm. But maybe he already guessed? That didn't make things better…

Moaning she let herself fall back into her soft nest. There they were again, her doubts and the confusion, her responsible arguments and careful reasons hopelessly scattered... And she thought she was rid of them...

"Can't you sleep, too?" The worgens voice rumbled low through the room, catching her in surprise that she gave a very unladylike squeal.

"Since when… I mean… why are you – _oh_!" Burying her face in her hands she made another moan. And there was the last missing peace: Embarrassment! Praised be the light, and that bit of luck that still hadn't left her, the fire had burned down to searing embers and the darkness was covering her red face. Composing herself she looked up again, facing him with what was left of her dignity. "I was just thinking about… what to do the coming days."

She bit her lip. Firstly it was a lie (she hated lies since all her friends would see through them whenever she tried), and secondly, she didn't want to think about this topic! – She realized with a start that she didn't want anything of this to change…

"I was thinking about that, too," her wolf answered. His tone didn't gave away if he had noticed her white lie. "I do not think I can do much from here on. Maybe I can find the way back to my unit, but without gear I'm afraid that'll be an unwise move…"

She swallowed. "Well," she started hesitating, "I can repair your gear. With magic I can restore its former state. But I fear that there are no weapons, I didn't see any on the battlefield where I found you…"

He pondered her words. "Well, I could sneak around any patrols but I wouldn't count on it. As soon as they detect me I'm as good as dead. In this state I'm no match for them." Though dark around them she thought she could see how with every word his expression grew gloomier. Apparently he was used to be able to deal with everything and anything – and he didn't like it to be otherwise… And yet… she didn't dare to assume that he might not _want_ to leave her…

"We don't have to think about that now," she said quickly – _too quickly, dummy_. "I mean… we can wait a few more days or longer, until you're recovered enough for your trip back your people…" Swallowing she forced herself to add: "I… I don't want you to leave as long as you're not fully recovered." Balling her fists and starring down at them her lip had a hard time again as it was chewed upon like it was some kind of gum. She said it! She actually really said it…

"What would your superiors say about this?" he ask after a moment.

Looking up she dropped her gaze again hastily, locked on her fists. "They… they will never know," she answered tiny voiced. "I mean… it wouldn't be… ehm… It's nothing they need to… know about." _Oh, why did I tell him?  
><em>

Cocking his head he regarded her thoughtfully a few moments – moments in which she died a thousand times. "Would they really do such a thing?" And she knew what he meant: If the warchief would find out about this she was as good as dead... Helping the enemy, maybe even sharing information...

She nodded.

In the darkness she couldn't make him out so well. Only his silhouette was visible as he sat upright on the bed. A tickling sound reached her – it had started raining again…

"Tell me," he started, "how did you find me?"

Though his tone sounded honest she felt her resilience rising. Questions! She had given herself away! _You bloody idiot!_ – And though common sense told her to hold everything back, no matter what, and that she should accept being sentenced to death for treason, she felt her defiance rise - and the urge to share everything with him. "I… only found you by coincident," she finally said. "I was… just nearby when I heard the fighting. First I just waited until everything was calm again and I wanted to… well, I wanted to get away." – She shot him an apologetic gaze. – "But… I guess I was curious, so… after the battle was over I went there and that's where I found you…"

He sat there a moment, unmoving while thinking about her little tale; then swinging his legs out of the bad, tugging up one and leaning his arm on it. "But I don't understand… Please, don't think me unthankful, because I am; more than I could tell. But I just don't understand what made you do that." It seemed to be something he had pondered about since he was awake. "If your faction's punishment would be so unforgiving I wonder what made you do it…"

Yes, why? That answer was at least a simple one. "Because," she said calmly, "I think there are more important things in this life than petty alliances and so called loyalties. Life isn't always simple enough for those standards to have a satisfying answer for every situation." She paused a moment. "Does that sound ridiculous to you?"

"Ridiculous?" His tone was strange as he slowly shook his head, musing her words. "No, anything but that. I would believe in coincidence that I am still alive. But no, I would never call it ridiculous."

His voice, rough as it was in his worgen body, was like velvet to her ears. Soft and reassuring it made her feel stronger. She didn't regret her decisions at all but fear about what would happen if anyone of the Horde would find out made her shiver. But the sound of his voice alone made everything alright, blowing away that dormant chilling fear. And she was still alive, they both were. – A smile came back on her lips as she gazed up at him again, her "Thank you" a mere whisper before she lowered herself in her nest again, allowing the spirits of sleep taking over from here.

* * *

><p>A loud bang woke her up.<p>

Rising in shock she sprang from her nest, arcane energies already gathering in her palms, ready to strike at any predator.

But there was none. Just her wolf was there, who woke up the same moment but who was much calmer than her. A storm was rattling outside, tearing at the house. Hail was drumming on the roof, the wind howled outside. Something outside had been broken by it, the noise of it waking them up.

Slowly relaxing she allowed the summoned energies to flow off and back into the current of the ley lines. Her heart was still thundering in her chest while she fell back into the covers of her nest. _What's going on with me?_, she thought annoyed. _I'm not like this. I'm not… why am I this nervous? _In all her time since she set foot into Gilneas she never had been as nervous as now within her wards… and it made her angry.

Her brow frowned while her eyes fell upon her lap. Well, she was awake now and since it didn't look like she would fall asleep right away she could do something useful.

"You do realize it's just a few hours after midnight." The worgens sleepy voice rumbled as it always had, yet he sounded impatient.

"Yes… yes, I know," she grumbled – just a few hours ago she thought she could enjoy a nice sound rest till dawn but the gilnean weather obviously didn't agree with that… Sighting she got up. "You… just go back to sleep and I… do a bit… analyzing… yes." Great idea, as if he could sleep with her tinkering around – well, he just had to try then.

He didn't comment nor question her words, just grunting and rolling on his other side facing the wall, moments later he was already slumbering.

Annoyed she gave a little snort; she was truly jealous of her wolf that he could just fall back to sleep while she was fully awake. _I just need to settle again…_ she told herself while taking up a random sample and hoping beyond hope that she would just get tiered again.

But the normal calmness didn't come back. _This just isn't fair!_ – She could have cried if she would have been alone. This really was ridiculous…

Hard hands roused her up, pulling her up almost roughly. "You really think too much, elf," her wolf grumbled while unceremoniously throwing her over his uninjured shoulder. "And I'm tiered."

Squealing she thrashed at first when his hands grabbed her. "Outch!" Thrashing was a bad idea, she hit her head. "Look, all right, I go back to bed, okay, I got it, you don't need to…"

Unceremoniously he dropped her onto her nest. "Silence now," he ordered while she looked up at him like a child that was scolded by its parent. Then he yawned deliberately, she almost heard his jaw snap. "I'm really, _really_ tiered now, elf, and since you're telling me the whole time to rest why don't you just listen to yourself for once?"

She opened her mouth for a sound reply about what the hell he was thinking about just picking her up like a heavy sack – but then her words died when he didn't return to his own bed but instead settled into her nest, right next to her… beside her.

Her heard started to pound again – had it grown lately? Somehow her chest was painfully narrow…

Yet nothing happened. He tucked the covers of her nest over both of them, gathered her up in his arms like a pup and before she could say anything (well, there wasn't really much she could say anyway) a hushed snore told her that he was already sleeping again.

* * *

><p>Originally this was chapter 6 ;)<p>

Dialogs still aren't my fortitude but I think I'll stop complaining about that now. If everything goes right the next chapter will include the beginning... Well, that's the plan sofar :)

R&R and see you next time.


	6. Chapter 6

This went faster than I thought previously…

Enjoy for as long as you can and: R&R ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter6<strong>

She was sweating. Oh, she hated sweating. She hadn't slept at all that night, her pounding heart drumming in her ears. Her whole body ached from tenseness; she hadn't stirred a muscle all the time since there was a heavy furry arm curled around her waist. Whenever she had tried to slip away from him, to get as much space between their bodies as possible, he would unconsciously grunt and pull her closer.

And then there where her fantasies…

Torture. Pure and blazing torture.

The scene from the barn came back to her mind in new intriguing colors and sounds, and this time she clearly imagined herself. How her body was caressed and how she coiled in need, wanton for everything she could get. For everything her wolf would give her.

Her fantasies included him even taller than he already was; his claws raking her delicate skin, clawing in her dark locks, using her in ways she would never allow while fully aware. But her dream-form welcomed it all, purring and moaning she offered herself to him, like a brazen she-wolf in heat.

And just like that she-wolf Phin herself felt the liquids of her very real arousal cumulate in her sex. She felt her nethers throb, those tantalizing lips that yearned to be kissed. Though she told herself otherwise again and again: just like the yelping she-wolf in her mind she, too, felt that thick manhood thrusting into her core, felt every ridge, every vein. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that it wasn't real, she felt it none the less – and it felt very, very real.

Hours later the storm outside ceased away, the little house came to rest at last. However, not a tiny little bloodelf, torn between her desire to embrace that tenderness, and the ever so annoying voice of reason, which relentlessly scolded her lack of dignity and patriotism. Her shyness added to it. Oh, never in her life had she ever felt so uncomfortable in the presence of a man, no matter his race.

She was weary already and the sky outside turned grey when these thoughts occurred to her. How many partners she had, she wondered. There weren't many. Some of them she met only once, sating her need in a short and heated moment. Then there was her old friend, whom she always met while visiting her family… He who became a skilled ranger unlike her, he who was killed during the last war and became one of those countless undead minions of the Lichking… – She now remembered that she hadn't been there since the war… and to be honest, she didn't have any desire to return. Not yet, not now anyway…

Her wolf stirred in his sleep; jerking aside, he rolled on top of her. Fully awake now she gasped and thrashed, almost unable to breath in her sudden panic… Pinching and slapping (not that she had any real leverage since both her arms were trapped right underneath her) her thrashing was finally rewarded with success.

"Oi, elf," a sleepy voice grunted. Then he sighted and the weight rolled off of her. Gasping and coughing she rose up, the chest almost painfully welcomed some air into it. "You really are an excitable thing, now are you?"

Glaring down with what was left of her shredded dignity (shredded thoroughly during those last nighttime hours) she stared daggers at him – much more so since that smug grin on his face wouldn't fade. "I'd like to see _you_ crushed by an ogre, and _then_ we see how you keep your breath!" she blustered at him, her heated skin flushed in her rage – and embarrassment. Looking down at him all her fantasies came back, and with them that persistent throbbing inside her midst. _This isn't fair_, she whined silently. _He doesn't notice anything!_ Then again, _oh crap_, what would happen if he actually _really_ knew?

"An ogre?" He chuckled. "Are you really sure I would let them as close to me as you're letting me?"

She hadn't seen him move, he was too fast, but suddenly his jaws clamped down around her wrist! – Yelping she leaped up, jumping out of her nest followed by a good-natured laugh. Panting and blazing in rage she wanted to throw a well-aimed mana-blast at him, but in midway she halted, staring disbelievingly: under the blankets which had covered her only recently, too, there was a bulge – a very apparent bulge on a very palpably location.

Blushing furiously she backed away. – After lazily cocking a brow at her startle her wolfs gaze went down at where her eyes had settled.

"You wanna see what's underneath?" he asked sultry, that smug grin went even deeper into his furry face while he tucked slightly at the blanket.

"You…" She wanted to say something, _anything_, but her brain had abandoned her on the battlefield of embarrassment, leaving her a blushed little girl in the face of male virility. Biting her unblamable lip she rushed off into (what was now a) bathroom. At the opening she whirled around. "And _don't_ you dare coming near this room!" she barked and disappeared. Roared laughing only extended her blush till she thought her head would pop.

_But well, at least it's a little bit private in here_, she thought relieved. While filling the tube with fresh water the laughing from the main room had turned into amused chuckling and she bit her lip again – it started hurting after all the abuse of the last days…

_This is so not fair!_, she complained to whichever deity would listen. Her first intention was to step into the tub with her robe on but then she changed her mind, reluctantly letting the protective fabric slide down her sleek body. The hell she would soak her favorite robe just because of that stupid infantile feeling she had developed in his presence!

She was still oddly intimidated by his acting the night before. The thing that worried her most was the fact that she hadn't even tried to fight him. Their whole situation was by any standard a perilous one, so why, in the name of all that had ever been dear to her, why hadn't she fought him? It could have been an attack after all. There was no certainty that he would leave her be after his recovery, no matter how nice he was and even after their little chat. There was still the possibility that he would do… things to her, she wouldn't approve. And killing her wasn't even the worst of it.

She knew all this, yet she hadn't lifted a finger to fight for her own wellbeing, for her very life. Did he already know…?

She was just rubbing her body with a lump of soap when the first sounds reached her. Raising in alarm she first thought her wolf was in pain, but when his grunts turned into throaty moans a new blush spread over her face, down her neck and shoulders…

Oh no, he wasn't! He wasn't… he just _wasn't_!

Sinking down into the water until only her blushed nose and face peeked out from the surface she listened frozen. No, he wasn't jerking off over there! He so just wasn't! – Yet there was no denying it. Those rhythmic moans and grunts where speaking for themselves, she had heart them hunderds of times in her life. Oh, either he really knew or he was just… taunting her! – Though angry again she couldn't quite grasp it, instead she squealed involuntarily in her bathtub, which held no comfort anymore, pressing her thighs pressed together with her arms snaked around her knees.

_This is so not fair!_, she cried soundlessly. She wanted to throw something at him, wanted to punish him for this scandalous demeanor. She knew he was doing that on purpose, she just knew! – Biting her lip again, she ranted and razed against herself even more. It was all her fault, or not? After all, he only said a few nice words and she would open up already. Now that he had her cornered after that incident last night (oh, she wouldn't be surprised if he would admit to her that he was in truth a druid who and command over the weather…) he seemed to just know that he could do _anything_ with her – and she couldn't stop him! That was so… such an _inequity_!

Listening helplessly, she didn't dare to touch herself. On second thought (which came hours later to her), it would have been at least a bit of a counter-statement of her, a little bit of self-confidence if she would do just as he did. Just to blunt at him "hey, look, I can do that crap, too!". Yet, oh she knew, she just didn't have the guts to do that… Of course, tending to herself sexually wasn't a big deal for her but the logical conclusion would be: the man wants it, the lady wants it – so let's do it together! And she so didn't want _that_ to happen, no matter her fantasies. That just wouldn't be right! For that, Garrosh would want her to be hanged – and her own pride would agree with him…

To her relief the animalistic growls from the main room started to rise eventually for some more levels. Finally reaching his peak a loud groan rang through the little house. – For a moment there she didn't dare to stir a muscle. A groan, then a chuckle, a little murmur (did she hear him saying "elf"?), a satisfied grunt, then it was silent again.

Unmoving she sat there, listening intently to any more sounds. When she heard him stalking close she held her breath… but he didn't enter, instead she heard the creak of wood. What did he want upstairs? A few shuffling sounds came from the other floor and she slowly relaxed. Whatever it was he was up to, it didn't seem to involve her – at least not right now. Though not knowing what he might look for upstairs she took up the soap again and continued to wash herself.

* * *

><p>She worked faster than usual, right know the very thought of being naked in so close proximity to him was too tempting. A naughty idea pushed itself unwanted before her eyes: what if she would actually just walk into the main room – soppy as she was and covered in foam that would trail down between her breasts and tights… Oh, she could imagine his reaction. From what he did only a few moments ago, she was quite sure, that he wouldn't decline such an obvious offer…<p>

Banishing that unruly thought again quickly she dried herself roughly; she would only feel better the moment she would wear her dress again… Maybe she should also wear a cloak… and another dress over the previous one… Just to make sure he wouldn't get any stupid ideas after this… _Oh crap_, he already _had_ stupid ideas!

_Just like you, dummy, so you're at least in good company_, she thought upset. Grapping her favorite robe she paused anxiously, sniffing at the white fabric, she swallowed hart: There was it, her wolfs odor had laid itself onto the cloth, like a second layer, just as if it was supposed to be there. Against better thought she pressed her face into it, taking a deep breath, imagining how her wolfs scent engulfed her from the in- and outside. She felt that unmistaken throb between her thighs rise up, feeling jolts running down her spine…

Before she really thought about it she went back into the main room – with her favorite robe on.

* * *

><p>Knees pressed together tightly she stood at her table-lab when her wolf came back downstairs, a stack of books in his arms. Cocking her brows in surprised he shrugged. "You won't find a household in this country without a bookstore," he said casually before lowering his booty on the ground.<p>

"Oh…" _Yes, brilliant answer…_ "And what kind of books are they?"

"I don't know," he replied. If she hadn't known what he had done only a few minutes ago she would have never thought that anything unusual had happened this day at all… "I just took the whole lot. I think I have a few poetry collections and novels, and this must be some essay about local beasts and insects…" He shrugged and looked up to her almost apologetic. "It's not what I would prefer to read but well… I'm too far off my form to do any exercise right now." As to prove his words, he carefully flexed this injured shoulder, rolled it experimentally, than shook his head.

With each word Phin relaxed a bit more, now the nursemaid again when he mentioned his shoulder… Tipping her pointy chin, she regarded him thoughtfully. "I have to change the bandages today anyway…" she started. "Does it throb or anything already?" _Oh crap, please don't let me sound like I'm about to freak out…_

At her question, he calmly shook his head. "No, it does itching a bit, but it hasn't changed since yesterday."

She nodded, turning back to her lab. "You read your books then," she tried to sound dispassionate, trying not to show him how relieved she was. The wound was improving! Oh, she could cry out in joy! "I'll do a few… tests first, and then I'll take a look at your shoulder and replace the bandages and packs."

Frowning she turned and summoned her bag. Gazing inside her frown deepened. Her wolf had to get healthy soon; she was running out of herbs! It would be enough for another herb pack on his shoulder but the other clashes… She would have to check them, too. Could she ask him to transform into his human form? _Oh yes, please transform into your hair- and furless form so I can _examine_ you thoroughly!_

_No way!_ – She would do it the furry way, that's it.

* * *

><p>The next couple of hours went by uneventful. She would stand at her lab, sometimes cursing under her breath every now and then when a sample would be negative again, while he sat behind her in what now both their nest, skimming through the pages, sometimes slowing down to read properly. Sometimes he would throw a new brick into the fire to light it up again but none of them would start a conversation.<p>

Yet she couldn't deny it. She was anything but comfortable in her skin. Trying as she might, even with so many important issues to deal with (her mission, her injured wolf, her out-running of herbs), she couldn't call herself to order. Biting her lip repeatedly while she stood like on searing coals, tiptoeing back and forth her nethers where now aching constantly. Her hands performed the analyzing almost routinely while part of her head wandered off to forbidden paths.

There she found herself being caressed and teased to the point of pain and utter frustration. Then he (of course it was her wolf haunting her on those forbidden paths) would really pleasure her until she would drop dead from exhaustion and strain. Her pearly skin would be sleek from all the sweating and their combined fluids, his scent embracing her, swallowing her like if he would take control over not only her willing body but also every inch of her very being.

Oh great Highborn, what in the name of the Sunwell was she _thinking_?

Trembling in humiliation and embarrassment (_please, make that he doesn't notice…_) she took a deep breath she forced herself to turn around. The whole morning he hadn't done much, no silly jokes or devious provocations, just reading his books. After a little while, he had started to do some stretching followed by simple exercises. Though off his old form he seemed determined to train his body as far as possible.

Outside it was rumbling again, flashes of lightning where seen in the distance. They would get a storm again… Oh, she hated stormy weather. She hated (and feared) everything she held no control over…

"I think it's time for my health check, is it not?" Her wolfs voice was just as jumbling as the upcoming storm…

Suppressing her little shock, she nodded. "Yes," she breathed. _Get a grip, girl, damn it!_ Clearing her throat, she directed him to the bed (and why wasn't there a single chair in this house?). "Make yourself comfortable, I'll make the pack…"

Finished with it she was relieved again to see that he wasn't into any other games. He was simply sitting there as he had the other day, waiting unmoving for her to unwrap the bandages and examine him – just like any other healer would do, in fact as she did all those previous times. Yet turning around and facing him again after hours she felt that nothing of her previous agitation had ceased.

Normally one got physical smaller when sitting down – of course not him!

_I'm done for._

* * *

><p>I'm very sorry to make another break here... well, actually I'm not, of course ;)<p>

Sure, I could make these two throwing themselves into the sheets immediately, but that would be pretty unlikely right now... at least in my opinion, I'm sure a couple people would disagree, but it's still MY story so cope with it :P

My apologize for any grammar- and what-ever-errors; I really try to avoid them but... English is tricky... still is ^^°


	7. Chapter 7

Things… you'll see. R&R and enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter7<strong>

Years later, she would wonder how she had been able to do the examination. She didn't topple over, she managed to only touch him just when it was due and she was relieved beyond telling that her heart didn't skip any beats and that her arousal kept itself at a tolerant level. She was working, she was doing what she was good in – and she was saving her belo… her wolf.

Afterwards, she was sure that it was that very thought, which had made her focus on the task. More than her attraction for him, this was the most startling thing about this unnerving situation: she couldn't stand the thought of him injured or in pain, and the moment he was improving she felt as if she could dance and sing all day and night long until she would drop asleep.

The moment she was finished she would gather up the used bandages and packs and rush back to her table. With trembling hands, she re-rolled the bandages (she would wash them later). At her lab, she busied herself until her wolf settled back in their nest, taking up the next book.

Without another word, she hurried into the next room to look for something to eat. Breathing hard she leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. _What's wrong?,_ she thought hysterically biting her knuckles. _What's wrong with me? Why is this happening to me? What have I done wrong? Is this some kind of a freaky punishment?_

What would they say about her back in Silvermoon? Oh, she knew: "Seraphita Moonshadow, yes, yes, what a shame… She not only helped and saved a member of the Alliance; she fell in _love_ with him, too. Can you believe it?" – _Yes, something like that_… Another setback for her people, who still tried to fit in into that huge constructing of abandoned races, which called itself The Horde.

_Appropriately so_, she thought, staring down at her bare toes peeking out from under her robe. _We're still not strong enough to settle our own business, yet act as if it is an honor to have us as allies, as if nothing would work without as… As if we were better than others... We are hiding behind the cloak of magic, trying to cover up our fear. Heh, the hell, we would even shriek from our own shadow… Yet we are just scared, so scared about the future… I am scared about the future! I wish I could – _

Shutting her mind vigorously, she scrambled around, hurriedly gathering some food. _Do not think, do not think_, she told herself repeatedly. In her stress that very morning, she had realized they had not eaten anything. Well, it didn't do them both any good if she would scold herself again so she grabbed everything within reach and put in on a wooden plate. Maybe, she thought re-entering the main room, maybe she should really stop thinking at all. She didn't do anything reasonable with it so she should just quit it…

"Not that I like to bore you with pointless observations," her wolf said, when she came back in, settling in the nest as far away of him as possible. "But you seem to be troubled – troubled beyond the… events of last night."

Shooting him a suspicious glance Phin quickly passed him some conjured bread and cheese before chewing on some herself. "We are running out of supplies," she finally said. "We cannot live on bread and tea for days to come… especially you. In addition, my herbs are used up, too. So…" She took a deep breath. Yes, what to do now? Pondering in silence, staring down at her breadcrumb, she did not see him creep closer.

"I know you are worried about my condition." She did not dare to twitch when his voice was suddenly too close – just her breadcrumb did not survive his move as it fell into her lap. Her wolf continued, still oddly unaware of the havoc he caused the bloodelf: "But rest assure that my kind is rather resistant compared with other races – maybe except your trolls," he added with a chuckle. "So, even if I'm in no fighting state yet, please tell what I can to do ease some of your stress…"

_You can do that by not touching me!_ – While speaking he had slowly lifted his hand (or was it a paw? – it was hard to tell) and stroked her cheek with the back of his clawed… claws. – She suppressed a shudder while biting her lip and balling her fists. Was he really such a blind arrogant _buffoon_ that he did not see that he practically drove her insane?

Jerking up and away from him, she took another bite of her bread. "I can't send you into the open to hunt or get new supplies," she said firmly.

He raised his brows. "So, you want to go outside your… sanctuary?"

"Well, I wouldn't get my alchemy supplies back," she answered, a frown on her forehead. Did he doubt her skill? She had survived in this cursed country for almost two months; she hunted her own food and got along with her work. So why on Azeroth shouldn't she be able to go out now and fetch both of them some new rabbits? "But I can provide both of us with the substance you need to recover and I need to keep my mood nicely balanced." Well, that was a good shot.

"I do not doubt that," he said calmly. "I know you are aware of what is waiting for you outside of this house. But you can't blame me for worrying about you anyway." – What! Wait. _What? _– "I don't like the idea to… stay behind."

_Oh, this is so sweat…_ No, wait. How would he now that she knows about his homeland? He didn't know that she had been here on her own. He could also assume that she just came here recently… On the other hand, was he just reassuring her? For what? – _Please, Phinny, would you please stop thinking for once?_

"Don't worry about me," she said, rising from the sheets determinedly. A bit gentler she added, "I do appreciate your concerns, but trust me in this, wolf, but I can handle myself out there." She turned and grabbed for her bag –

"That's not what I'm pointing at."

By his tone she froze. The whole time it had been calm, as if he was talking to an easy to upset creature. Now it was commanding and a couple degrees colder. Apparently, the easy-to-upset-creature had to be talked with differently…

Staring back down at him, she had to swallow hart. Not only his tone had changed but his eyes, too, and he held her trapped right there, rendering her unable to stir a single muscle. Clearing her throat, she said, "Then… what is it that troubles you…?" Half-jokingly, she added, "You think I would contact any of my 'allies'?"

When his brow rose a second time both her hands flew up her mouth. What did she say? No! She didn't! She _didn't_ just tell him, that she didn't have any contact to her comrades of the Horde! She… how could she be so astronomically stupid? If he was a dimwitted guy she couldn't care less, but this was a bloody sly worgen, who never said more than he knew he could tell her, would work it out soon enough…

"Wouldn't that be the consequential conclusion?" he asked, again his tone was demanding, forcing an answer from her… Shaking her head vigorously, she pressed her lips close. _Stupid, stupid…_

Now he got up himself (oh, he was so _tall_…), trapping her chin in his hand, steadying her eyes on him. When it started to grumble again outside, she flinched. _Why is everything just going wrong?_ "Since you are so… gritty about your lab" – his eyes switched to the table and back to her – "and you're… employment, will you answer some non-direct questions?"

Her neck started to ache from staring right up at him and her throat was suddenly dry. "I… that depends on… the question," she finally said. It was hart to focus. His sheer presence pressed down on her as if his closeness alone, without touching, could make her crawl. Her nostrils flared from strain as she tried to keep her breathing in check. _In and out, in and out, in through the nose, out through your lips… lips… _Her lips were dry…

His expression had changed again: he was more thoughtfully now, his thumb slightly ghosting over her lips and cheek (_Doooon't do that…_). Only a tiny panicked voice in the far corners of her consciousness war crying that, even still in a weakened state, he would be able to shred her neck with this thumb and it's almost ridiculously oversized claw… Though she didn't allow herself any motion, she couldn't prevent cold sweat gather down in the small of her back while her breath hitched a bit higher.

"There are not many of your… people who know you are here, right?" She blinked, that didn't sound like a question. – Swallowing she nodded.

"You are… hiding… yet you're not hunted by anybody… So, your employment… it keeps you apart from anyone else here?" – Again, it was no real question. She nodded.

She tumbled when he released her chin. "That's all," he said casually. "I think the other questions will have to wait." With that, he settled back into their nest, grabbing another small slice of cheese before reaching for the book he was recently reading.

Staring down at him her mouth went lax. Did he just… Oh, that… bloody… _arrogant_… _smug_…

With a snarl, she dived down, threw away the book and grabbed his collar fur. "_You bastard_!" she cried enraged, forgetting anything of her arousal or previous intimidation. "You knew all the answers right away! You… you…"

When his brow rose in amusement in face of her rage she felt as if she was about to explode right there on the spot. He definitely figured her out already – and she hated it!

"You… manipulative… smug… _arsehole_! You – "

"And you are _very _excitable and easy to figure out." His arm shot up and around her slim waist, pulling her close roughly.

Protesting and cursing on the high of her lungs, what the _hell _he was thinking and that he would release her _right bloody now_, she thrashed wildly when he put her effortlessly into his lap. When his free hand closed around her neck, its claws ever so slightly penetrating her skin, she came to an immediate halt. Frozen in place she breathed erratically as her rage was dying like a candlelight blown out.

"My little elf," he whispered when she fell silent almost immediately. She couldn't see him but his tone, deep and rumbling had its calming effect on her again. Still, her heart was thundering against her rip-case like a little bird fluttering inside to small a cage. She was sitting in her wolfs lap, was held firm yet tenderly by his arms – and was shaking violently in terror. Claws shredding her slim throat filled her inner eye…

Rubbing his cold snout against her cheek he went on, his hand stroking her belly while the claws retreated from her throat. "I know you have your secrets – and you may keep them… for now," he said. "But you are wrong if you think I _knew_ the answers. I was just guessing. That's a difference as you will agree."

She had settled too quickly for her own comfort. Blushing all over her cheeks, she chewed her lip, throwing him a reproachful gaze. "You could have told me," she growled gloomily. "You gave me a heart attack!" Not good: if she would relax to much in this very spot… It was pretty comfortable here, too…

He chuckled. "You can't blame me for taking the changes I get." She flinched when that cold muzzle was innocently trailing down her neck. "Call it a wolfish habit…"

_Do something!_ "A habit?" she asked, voice slightly slipping. "What kind of habit? Ensnare women as they come across your path?" Her attempt to be witty went terribly wrong…

That smug amusement in his voice… "For example, yes." Oh, now she was in trouble… What was that at her ear? Was he _nipping_ at her ear?

"Very nice!" she blurred; wounding out of his arms, which opened to release her, she jumped up again. Heavy drops where already clashing against the walls and window, leaving no question about the conditions outside. _Perfect! There go my hunting-plans…_ – "Well, since that is… settled and I don't like rain… I guess we have to do with what we have." She poured down her tea, breathing hard. "And… I'm going back to… work… Yes."

* * *

><p>Running out of supplies, running out of samples, running out of <em>nerves<em>! Why, for _Suns sake_, did everything have to expire?

Working at her lab, tinkering with scales and various liquids, observing the low sizzling of boiling potions in their conical flasks, didn't give her the usual catharsis when it happened: her last sample. She was done with them, finished. – Yet she didn't dare to move away from her working space. Her thoughts of course where not limited by physical space, they were already circling around the one topic, which sat only two strides behind her on the ground in their nest. Her wolf was reading silently, sometimes biting off a crumb of her conjured bread. Every now and then, she thought she could feel his eyes rest on her, her slender form, tiny and thin in comparison to female humans. Did he even think of her as an attractive woman? Maybe he just viewed her as an unexpected nonsexual companion… _That would be worse_, she thought wryly.

When he was in a poor state things had been easier. She had successfully distracted her mind with the certainty that he wasn't recovered and all and that he wouldn't be able to do… those things to her. Whereas now he was in a proper state, not in top-form but he would be strong enough for… _those things_. And her fantasy came up with even wilder scenarios then the previous ones from last night. Therefore, if there was even a shred of truth about the perfect noses of worgen then he knew, just _had_ to know, what kind of an effect he had on her.

Again a shameless gush of moisture gathered in her core, making her shiver as unwanted pictures of the barn pushed themselves once again before her inner eye. Would this scene pursue her for the rest of her life?

She pressed her thighs together while she stood at the table, holding onto that last analyzed sample like an anchor. _Just don't think about it, Phin_, she thought. _Just do your job and be done with this. He'll be all right again soon and you can go on at last. You'll be gone before he can alert his superiors…_

Yes… yes, that was good. She would repair his gear; she would escort him as far as possible to the next gathering point of the gilnean forces… _And then I'll make a run for it – yes_, she thought. The poison was already cleansed out of his system, he would only have to wait for at least ten days until the sutured wound would have mended and then any other healer could pull out the thread. Actually, any normal healer would use his healing magic to heal her wolf completely and he would remove the thread in the process.

However, as much as she tried to convince herself that this plan was after all this mess the best and the right thing to do, heart gave a painful clench. It came rather plain to her: she didn't want him to leave; she didn't want to leave him… Her by now hypersensitive body did not help her strained brains. Being touched and held by him had been enough to turn her bones into useless jelly, the very thought of those minimal moments made her head swim. She had felt him, his still overly warm body (normal for a worgen, as she knew now), his demanding hands and sharp claws – threatening, yet tender. Shudders went up and down her spine, she felt her thighs being moistened by her seeping fluids; she felt them running down the insides of her thighs to her knees… _Just imagination, Phin_, she thought panicked, unconsciously grabbing the robe over her crotch. _It's just your imagination… nothing more. Just fantasy…_

Her track of thought was disrupted by a vicious snarl. Before she knew what happened she was whirled around and hustled against the stair railing, facing the wooden structure. Dizzy she shook her head to clear it, barely noticing the sound of ripped cloth and cool air against her back, even the hungry snarl in her neck seemed distant. When same soft cloth was roughly pushed all the way down her arms, baring her shoulders and breasts, she gasped. Another jerk up and the fabric of her robe was gathered around her hips, leaving her most vulnerable parts unprotected and trembling to her assailant.

What was happening? _This isn't happening, this isn't happ – _

A fully engorged cock pressed hard against her bare ass.

Panic blazed up, blinding her every thought as she tried to push against him, trying to wriggle free from between the worgens body and the unyielding wooden structure. But, damn, he was strong! Unmovable as rock. And hot – and that didn't help at all: his skin under his rough fur was searing, its warmth seeping right into her body that was heating up eagerly on its own accord. As much as she tried to keep it down her arousal refused to be gagged down again as it had been these previous days: it seemed to infuriate itself, growing relentlessly against her fruitless attempts to regain control over her own body…

With one hard pull, he yanked her back, pressing her against his broad chest, his large hands enclosing her arms, pressing them against her torso. Suddenly determined she closed her eyes, fighting down her panic. _No!_ Even if she had fallen for him or not, she wouldn't let him go through with this! She wouldn't let him… _do_ this!

Resolute she clenched her jaw. She was a mage, by the _Sunwell_; she didn't need arms to fight!

A soft, almost tender nipping at her long ear made her eyes snap open the moment she gathered the arcane energies…

"You shouldn't do that," the gruff voice of her wolf whispered into her ear, followed by a wet hot tongue. A whimper escaped her lips before she shut them again. This wasn't true! This just wasn't true!

"And why not?" she pressed through clenched teeth.

Her chin was lifted, her head turned in an almost painful angle. Caged in his hands and body she shivered violently when looking into his eyes… those… golden pools, that had so unsettled her from the beginning…

She was thankful for his strong grip on her otherwise she would have fallen like a pile of bricks. It was all inside these golden eyes, the answer to her question. 'Why not?', what a stupid question in the face of what she saw there what had been hidden these last days first by his wariness and then by utter discipline: rough and primal, untamed by any regulation or custom; his eyes mirrored her wishes, all those secret fantasies of which she had been sure had been only hers. But his eyes and his rock hard manhood poking at her told the opposite.

Releasing her chin he buried his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent. "We both know your need" – a jerk of his hips against her ass, making her gasp – "your heat." A clawed finger reached down, pressing against her folds – a hum vibrating through her. Oh, she so wanted more than that… _Wait, no!_ "So… _willing_."

She bit her lip, sighting while writhing in his arms. Each word hit home, he used them like weapons. That much was sure. She was like a pupped, and he her puppeteer, who knew exactly which strings to pull to send her headfirst into mindless dumb stupor. When her knees were pried apart, it felt as if it was someone else.

With a jerk, the canine member pushed against her nethers, not entering but his cock was now nestled neatly against her folds, the rim of its head pushing against her engorged clit. – A gasp escaped her, followed by a throaty moan as he started to thrust against her, his veined shaft stimulating her lips, his head rubbing persistently against that sweet little pearl where all her thoughts had directed themselves. It brought her back in her own body; every nerve in her body was electrified by him. There was no hiding again, her blazing body had her trapped and she loved it.

Breathing hard she stared down and watched the glistering head appear and disappear between her spread legs, it was almost paralyzing. Forth and back, forth and back again and again… Groaning in a last attempt to gather her mind, she asked, "How… how long do you know…?" What good did it to deny her desire now? Even she could smell it now, her liquid lust, which hung heavy around her like a cloud. He knew, and he bloody knew the whole time! – She should be angry; in any other situation, she would be. Now she was nothing but a slave locked up in her own throbbing body…

A hungry growl rumbled through him, through her. "Your scent, my lovely elf," he purred, sharp teeth grazing her collar and shoulder. "It gave you away the moment I woke up the first time…" Thrusting against her unhurriedly his member stroked her netherlips while his hands tenderly caressed her tiny body. _So soon?_ "It gave you away the whole time." Pinching a nipple till it stood hard and bright pink he gave her shoulder a short firm bite, not breaking skin but making her yelp in surprise. "You have no idea how you drove me crazy from the very beginning – especially a few seconds ago. I thought would come on your own even without touching yourself." He chuckled while her blush deepened from embarrassment.

Claws started to rake her sensitive skin as she pressed her back against him, shyly responding his yearning hips. _I want this, oh Great Sun, I so want this_…_ Phin, you idiot!_ Her breath became just as ragged as his. Arching her spine, she pressed her arse back at him, wriggling desperately to increase the friction. _Girl, what about your bloody dignity?_ Reaching back she hesitantly felt for him, her exploring fingertips trailing down, feeling the muscles move under his fur. "Well," she said in strain, "that'll make… two of us…"

_To the nether with it…_

Finally home her fingertips found what they were unconsciously looking for as they grazed coyly against heated skin of the worgens member, which stood bare out from the longer fur in his loins. He didn't feel any different from other males, she observed as her fingers on their own accord raked the surprisingly soft fur at the base…

Her little ministration seemed to have an effect: a throaty grunt vibrated against her ear, which felt sore from his nibbling. His movements became erratic, before her torso was pushed forward. Pressed against the wood her hand clamped instinctively down around the railing, the other clutched in the torn left overs of her dress. Hot shivers ran down her spine, making her arch her back half consciously.

Like a wolf looking hungrily at his meal, he growled down at her. He placed his hands on her twitching hips, steadying her. Leaning down he whispered, "I thought I could get used to this scent of yours" – his claws stroking her quivering thighs – "but you're smart enough to realize that I didn't succeed…"

As his words rang between them he repositioned himself again, the searing head of his member pushing insistently against her entrance. "I cannot say, I like the idea of being unable to hold myself in check, but since you are making it so hard to resist with all your… little noises and thrashings" – the head push further inside, stretching her, making her gasp – "and not to mention this tantalizing scent of yours…" Deeper and deeper he went, her gasp turned in a moan already. She knew he was tall and she was tiny and that his member would be big for her (that had been the case with almost every man she had been with), but the slow stretching was almost painfully. Yet she couldn't think of anything more delicious…

With one last jerk of his hips, he buried himself into her.

"_Oh, sweet light…_" she moaned. A furred arm came around her when she almost flailed, pressing her against that hot chest in her back. Her fantasies were nothing compared to this! He was filling her, stretching her, stroking the right places and all the others…

Not waiting for her to further adjust to his size and girth (and she wouldn't have wanted it any different), he pulled out till only the head remained inside her and pushed back in into her searing, welcoming core. She felt every vein, every ridge, the rim of his head massaging her insides and making her squeal and twitch under him.

"But on the other hand…" he added – oh, she could practically see that smirk on his face… "I do not think you mind that."

Her responsible side, crumbled into a tiny spark under the worgens assault, was terrified by his words, but the rest of her pushed all common sense and dignity aside. A throbbing canine manhood buried to the hilt in her sex helped immensely as she panted under him. As much as her mind tried to make her fight the huge wolf in her back, she realized that she didn't want this to stop. She wanted to give in in his caresses and as he established a rhythm into her, she bit her lip, realizing in wanton bliss that her mind indeed slipped off with every thrust.

Straighten up his clawed hands grabbed her roughly, speeding up. "_Yes_," she hissed.

Her heated body waged back and forth, nothing but a toy in her wolfs claws. She felt like caught in a maelstrom: Her sex gripping and releasing the worgens member on its own accord, instinctively massaging the hot shaft. Her skin tingled and sweat was gathering in the small of her back. Her pants turned into moans that filled her ears while her hand holding the railing as if her life was depending on it…

_Oh by the Highborn all their noble children!_ This was it! The fulfillment of her fantasies. And so much more! Her body stood aflame, the worgens heat merging into her felt like rough licks of fire. Caught between him and the creaking wood her breasts were meshed in rhythm with his thrusts, while she tried to counter his strokes by pushing against him.

Though the throaty groan in her back told her of the pleasure her action gave him, he didn't lose control over their joining; keeping his firm pace he would soon send them both off into frenzy.

Her first climax caught her by surprise. Her channel and with it her whole body convulsed in waves of spasms. Her peak seemed to spiral higher instead of wearing down while her moans went up as well until she almost passed out from the lack of air. Wave after wave thundered through her, spurred on by the additional warmth that gathered down in her sore core.

A throaty grunt before her sex was suddenly empty. With a jerk, she was whirled around and roughly pushed against the wooden structure. Shaken and on jelly-legs she looked up startled. Whimpering she shrank again the wood in her back: feeling tinier than ever before in her life she stared right into the ravenous gaze of the worgen. He wasn't her smart wolf with words like daggers anymore, instead a wild beast stood there, staring down with carnal desire. A low threatening growl rumbled as he prepared to finally truly ravage her – and though it scared her to death her aching body convulsed in just another new wave of liquid need.

She shrieked in shock when the poor remains of her dress were torn away, baring her to his voracious stare while his nostrils went even wider. Hooking his large hands under her knees he picked her up effortlessly, crudely spreading her thighs he opened her to his dripping member. She could grasp the railing over her head, a feeble attempt to steady her shuddering body. Almost crushing her, he jerked up into her quivering cleft, again burying himself into her to the hilt. Pounding aggressively now, he ignored her helpless screams and painfully wails. He was now searching for his own release and despite the pain taking her with him.

Her whole body was shaking under his ruthless pounding. Her erect nipples were rubbing against his rough fur, which tickled them just enough to send countless bolts of lightning down her spine. Arching her back and clasping her around his massive neck, she pressed herself closer to increase the sensation, which so deliciously added to the delightful ache in her core.

Her head rolled back into her neck, her mouth wide open as her moans and whimpers just became louder and louder, thrumming her ears. Strong jaws closed around her exposed throat, her skin pierced by razor-sharp teeth. A thundering roar reverberated in her already deaf ears and her eyes fell closed.

A few more hart thrusts before her wolfs orgasm exploded into her with searing hot come. She couldn't breathe, the jaws locked around her collar were chocking her. Her mind went blank again as another climax crushed over her; this one even more intensive than the last. Howling in final release the worgen moaned out his climax, freeing her throat, which now harshly vocalized her own peak.

Her fingers where still clutched in his mane since her arms were not long enough to encircle his whole neck. Desperately she tried to catch her breath, trying to dilute those black spots before her eyes. Her still jerking body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, a condition she normally despised, but now she felt too exhausted to care. Moaning her head rolled forward into the nape of his neck. With deep breaths, she took in his scent and her own, smelling sex and other sweet odors like a blanket around them.

As he withdrew his softening member from her sore channel, she whimpered. Releasing her bent legs, she stood shakily, still her fingers in his mane. Her whole body ached and she was thankful that he still held her, though he looked just as exhausted as she did.

Nevertheless, he lifted her up, cradling her in his arms while her hands didn't loosening their grip into his mane. Sweaty and cowered in the combined fluids of both their pleasure she was lowered into her nest. When she looked up into his furry face, she couldn't suppress a giggle.

"You were right," she said with a sly wink. "I didn't mind indeed."

He answered with a satisfied grin as he settled his own bulk next to her, carelessly stroking aside the mass of dark curls from her face and shoulders. "I thought as much," he replied with that content smirk she came to hate and helplessly love at the same time. "It's not like you would have any other choice in the matter," he added while pulling her into his arms, his long rough tongue licking all the way from her throat (which now held a few red marks) up to her pointy chin and her oversensitive ears.

Moaning weakly she tried to crawl out of his reach, but it was no use, he would simply gather her back up again, making her tremble under his minor and yet so enthralling ministrations. "We… we'll talk that through later…" stifling her little moans she finally gave in, too exhausted to fight or mind anything.

"Yes, we will, my singing elf."

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><p>Hm… at some point I think I could have streched it a bit longer…<p>

Aww, who cares? Hope you liked it :)


	8. Chapter 8

Yes, sometimes writing goes faster sometimes and stumbles at other…

This was a fast chapter :) Lucky me.

R&R and enjoy :)

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><p><strong>Chapter8<strong>

She woke with a start. What was that? – Oh, it was just the wind again, rattling at the house. One look outside the window told her that it had stopped raining during the night, during those hours she was sleeping from sheer exhaustion.

And now she knew what woke her up: a strange smell from the other room, like burned… something. – Fully awake now she rose from her nest…

… and immediately tumbled and fell on her knees. Moaning painfully she dropped side wards, gasping for air.

_Blast!_ That was unexpected. The moment she straightened up, a stabbing pain shot through her whole body. Tiny little muscles in her back, her thighs, her shoulders and neck protested her every single move – not to mention her still sore sex. Even her arms felt sluggish and heavy, barely able to prop up her torso, not to mention the rest of her. Raising in a sitting position her arms trembled from strain until she toppled over again.

"Crap…" she murmured before bursting into giggles as she rolled on her back. Unbelievable! What had that worgen _done_ to her? She felt as weak and unbalanced as a newborn pup; she almost couldn't feel her legs.

"Take it slowly, elf," her wolfs voice rumbled, sending new sparks of excitement down her spine as she turned her head to face him – it was no use to make a fool out of her by trying to sit up. "We have to feed you up before we can make it another round." As casual his tone was, his eyes were not: they wandered up and down her exposed body like a lovers hands. Phin bit her lip; lying here naked on the sheets for the entire world to see and having a wild furry worgen staring down at her with unmasked hunger, was arousing beyond words. It made her convulse in desire. And he just said 'another round'. Oh, she wished he would –

"And you don't want to look at me like that as long as you can't even lift a finger," he added grinning, every bit the smug and arrogant and whatever she had called him. Yet she found it rather irresistible… Before she could shoot anything back at him, he disappeared again, leaving a useless pile of an elf in their nest.

Still the smell of burned whatever-it-was was in her nose (was he cooking?) and though it wasn't close to anything she would regard as 'tasty' she could nevertheless feel her stomach grumble. Great Sun, how long had she been asleep? Moreover, what had her wolf done in that time to find something to cook with anyway?

Slowly she attempted to sit up again (standing upright was far out of the question), her arms and shoulders protested, yet she bit her lip and straightened up slowly. Her back was killing her and new bolds of pain cumulated in her core. What did she _do_ yesterday? A ten hours workout with the Horde warriors in the Valley of Honor? When did having sex become so strenuous? _Obviously, I missed some new rules, _she thought warily. _People need to be in form nowadays if they want to enjoy it…_

She had to laugh. It was strange how much a single night, how much sex (even if it had been the best she ever experienced) could change a person's attitude. Yesterday around the same time, she was nothing but a wretched shade of what she used to be: a powerful mage, one of the most skilled among the mortals of Azeroth. Sure, these last almost two months she had spent in Gilneas had changed her, challenged her, forcing her to do things she would never even considered before.

Now she sat here, feeling as if a herd of kodos had overrun her recently. Yet she couldn't remember the last time she was as happy as now. In addition, the most remarkable change of all, she thought while gathering up the blanked and wounding it around her upper body, was the sudden silence of that off-voice. This voice of conscience had accompanied her since the day on the battlefield one week ago… and now it was gone. Yes, she really had good reason to be happy.

A hissing sound from the now kitchen-room caught her attention as well as her wolfs curse. The clatter of pans and metal sounded angry. Was he fighting? With food? When dark clouds of smoke rose into the main room, she made a mental note to never allow him near any pot or pan in the future…

Annoyingly waving with a towel to delude the smoke, her wolf entered, a pan that erupted a nice amount of the smote in his large hand. The worgen grumbled something under his breath before he set down the pan in front of her.

"_You killed the food!_" she cried. Looking down something blackened and sizzling lied there. Normally she wouldn't think of food being able to have any feelings, but this something-that-normally-would-pass-as-food looked really unhappy to her.

The worgen was rather unmoved by her outburst; shrugging his massive shoulders he said, "It was already dead… in a food-way that is…"

Sniffing she threw him a reproachful glance. "One thing is for sure, wolf," she said firmly. "This was the last time I'd ever let you near any pot, pan or cooking fire. I mean…" she pointed at the unfortunate mass in the pan. "This is barbaric!"

Her wolf snickered as he let himself down on the sheets. "I'm very sorry," he said grinning, "but unfortunately my cooking skill does not extend beyond the fire making."

She bit her lip again while suppressing a giggle. "Much more so to keep you out of reach of a cooking space," she answered, carefully poking the smoldering mass inside the pan. "By the way, what is this? Or what had it been before you laid hands on it?"

"Dried beans and peas, backed with some dried fruit," he said. "And whine. There was a barrel somewhere in the corner…" Oh yes, she remembered that one.

Would it be impolite to just throw the whole thing off into the nethers? Yes, it would. – Swallowing, she carefully took the spoon, her wolf had taken with him for her, and reluctantly she poked at the dark mass. _Beans and peas, how could anyone do this to you?_ The taste was like nothing she ever tried before (like nothing she would try again anyway), but exhaustion and hunger drove her on so she scrubbed off the blackened pieces and swallowed the rest.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked after a few mouthfuls.

"I'll tell you as soon as you have eaten up," he just said firmly. He left for a few minutes while she was still busy with the pan and came back with two mugs of tea – bless him, she would need that after this… meal. Except for a piece of cheese he didn't eat anything else, lucky man…

"You have slept the whole night and almost the whole day," her wolf said after a few more mouthfuls and took the pan from her, passing her some tea.

"I slept the whole day away?" she asked disbelieving, carefully holding the hot cup. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Why should I? Honestly, since you didn't sleep at all the night before, you needed it," he said with a sly wink.

Blushing, her eyes went wide again. "How do you know that?"

He laughed silently. "I didn't," he said. "You just told me yourself."

Just like the day before she felt her rage rising. This wasn't true, was it? Was he just playing with her? This big-headed lousy _moron _of a man with fur? This –

"I'm just good with guessing," he said defensively while still grinning, his claw lazily raking a bit of exposed skin of her leg, sending goose bumps all over it.

Quickly gathering her limp up Phin regarded him with a ruining glare. "What's wrong with simply asking?" she said upset. She was tired of this kind of games especially since she wasn't sure if the food would stay in her belly. Slowly slurping her tea, she still glared at him over the cups rim, which her wolf found somewhat amusing by the look on his face.

She didn't react fast enough when he grabbed her leg. Again, he took solitude to just rake his claws over the smooth skin, no matter how much she would struggle, attentive to not spill her tea. "And grabbing a ladies legs, is that also some strange thing you're good in?" she asked distressed. There it was again, those tickles in her core, while he ignited little sparks with his claws; it made her quiver. And the worst of all, he knew – she knew, _he_ knew what he was causing to her again!

"This is not fair," she finally whined while putting aside her cub; aimlessly she tucked at her leg to crawl away from him. "We just… did it a few hours ago and… I'm tired."

"No, you're not," he just said, one hand holding her ankle captive while the other leisurely raked up to her hip, stroking the inside of her thigh. "Can you smell it? It's all around you, the air and your very skin. It doesn't lie, you know…" Tantalizingly slow, his hand continued on its journey on her body.

"But…" she bit her lips. Her thoughts began to slip again. _No, we have to settle things first… or don't we?_ "Isn't there always a… difference between… body and mind?"

He smiled at that. "Of course there is," he said. "But would you really order me to stop now? Or would you want me to just continue with my own… _examination_ of this body of yours?"

_Stupid question and you know it_, she thought. Her toes already curled themselves up and the throbbing of her nethers started to occupy her brain. "I…" Again, she bit her lip, breathing hard, when his claws just didn't touch that one part that yearned so much for attention…

"But, of course, I would never do something which is against your _outspoken_ will," he continued sultry, he eyes observing her face and every little expression.

When his thump firmly pressed her groin, stroking the base of her leg, she gasped. Both hands shooting up to clamp into the blanket, she was wound in. With no support, her torso fell back into the sheets of their nest. Like a predator ready to strike, he dove forward, pulled her closer, positioning her legs around him.

"Seems you're not taking your time again," she observed breathlessly. She didn't know what it was, his touch or the simple certainty of what was to come now, but she felt her excitement rising persistently. Unlike yesterday, when she had been overrun by his assault, her mind started to relax along with her already convulsing body and she realized with a content smile, foreign to her, that she couldn't await his next step.

"You have to excuse me" – his tone was still casual as if he would talk about the weather – and it turned her on even more. _Oh, someone please blast him, _she thought, heat constantly blooming. "But you are the death for every worgen with this scent." Both his hands were working her now, raking claws and his thumbs pressing the insides of her thighs.

She gasped. "You… you're not… you're not really preventing that…" She panted now, her fingers helplessly grasping the sheets in an attempt to protect at least a small part of her aching body from him. Yet she couldn't stop her own fingers as they massaged her breasts through the fabric; she could already feel her nipples harden…

"You blame me?" he chuckled, his tongue flashing out, tasting her stomach and abdomen, not touching the cloth. "I do not see the connection between your arousal and me being close to death from poison." His thumbs now pressed in unison against her loins, forcing another gush of heat to bloom into her channel, which was already twitching in need. "That's what really interests me, my singing elf" – slowly his cold snout sank to her aching nethers, inhaling deeply.

"It's more…" It was hart to focus not only on his words but on hers, too. Thinking and talking in this situation, with a ravenous worgen looming over her sex watching it with open hunger, was a straining and above all an arousing business… "It's more like… what you _could _do," she finally panted.

His hum vibrated through her core, her body, making her quiver and convulse in desire. "Is my singing elf such a naughty dreamer?"

_Get _on _with it, will you?_ "She is," she admitted instead, unwilling for games, when she started to add, "And don't make me…" – Her head fell back in the sheets instead the moment his cold muzzle pressed surprisingly hard against her aching pearl.

Squealing she arched her back, spreading her thighs as far as possible she hissed in bliss. This wasn't exactly what she was pointing at, but very close…

Something warm and moist pressed against her folds. With firm strokes, his tongue worked her engorged lips, and she indeed turned into a singing elf, yelping and moaning under his exquisite torment. All the while, his snout was rubbing against her clit, sending bolds of excitement up and down her spine.

Transformed into a panting excuse of an elf she was unable to resist his hands any longer as they went up to her chest, pushing aside the sheet. Claws dug into soft flesh, her nipples were pulled and rolled roughly. When he pinched is claws into them, pain shot into her dumb mind and racing down into her moist core, electing another gush of her juices.

More than once, she was close to reach her peak, but he would back away before she could come, instead nibbling at her leg or turn to lick her lower abdomen. It drove her crazy, if she could she would curse him but her sex-hazed brain didn't come up with anything but cries of frustration. Whenever he went back to her aching over-sensitive sex, she would sob in relief – only to sob even harder when he would retread…

… until his tongue slipped into her moist core.

Long and broad, it reached deep into her quivering sex, electing new screams and yelps from her as she convulsed violently under him. Her twitching hips where held in place in a bruising grip; he didn't back away this time. His snout continued to rub her clit, pressing harder at times. Sitting up he lifted her lower body from the sheets, only her shoulders and head remained on the ground while she hang in his grasp.

Mimicking his thrusting manhood her wolf let his tongue lap at her juices, licking deep and retreating again, pressing her most sensitive spots, aiming for them whenever her reaction told him that he had pressed true.

She lost it again. A screech tore through the house when she came in his mouth, one spasm after the other rocked her tiny body, pushing one wail after the other from her throat.

Panting her skin had become a shade of pink under the usual pearly white, glowing through it like smoldering embers. Another tremor went through her when he lowered her hips and settled them on his thighs, her legs hooked around his narrow waist. Her breath hitched when her eyes found the worgens hard member, standing proud and dark red between her parted thighs, pressed against her throbbing libs.

It was huge! Yesterday she hadn't really seen it, just the tip and the raw feeling of it while pounding her core. Seeing it now, highly visible and unashamed, seemingly growing from her own loins, she was terrified and thrilled the same time.

Her breath was caught again when he slowly bowed over her prone form. His snout slowly traced up from her abdomen (how could someone this tall fold his torso as far as he did?) to her breaths, giving each nipple a short lick before resting his elbows on both sides of her head. She could feel his raging heat throb against her belly as it was pressed between them, wishing only to enter her.

Like a drunk, she took him in. Shyly her hands reached up, tenderly stroking his shoulders and chest. Slowly catching her breath again, she found she couldn't get enough of this man. He must be a fighter with those muscles, which rippled under his short fur. This fur strangely fascinated her. Elven males didn't have any hair on their bodies except on their heads and pubic area. Humans sometimes had hairs all over, a ticklish fluff teasing a woman's senses. Some trolls she had seen had fur like moss on their shoulders and arms. Orcs were much like humans, a friend had told her. Tauren… well, she had never seen them as sexual attractive creatures… maybe because they were just _too big_. But they had fur. She had never thought about that before…

Laying here her wolfs fur slightly tickled her skin. Letting her hands graze over it, breathing in his spicy and feral scent, she notices it was longer on his shoulders. A wild darker mane reached almost down to the middle of his back and then this surprisingly soft fur in his pubic area… She had felt it yesterday just remotely, now her fingers grazed over it and she hummed when she felt its silky structure.

"And a curious elf at that," he breathed into her ear. He didn't downright force himself upon her this time but her little journey over his body was paying off: groaning his hips already twitched, yearning for some friction.

"Very curious, yes," she whispered, now stroking his face. "And starving… for you."

"Then I'm the luckiest fool that walks on Azeroths soil."

The reunion of their bodies was like the birth of another sun to her. Millions of lightning-bolts exploded before her eyes, pushing aside any common sense. There was only her wolf, buried to the hilt in her moist cavern and her own twitching body. This time there was no pain when he invaded her, only the unyielding stretching of her thoroughly prepared sex. Yesterday her body seemed to have fallen apart, and now remodeled itself to fit only him, as if she had been born only to be here.

However, as composed as he might be and no matter how well he could suppress his desire, the moment he buried himself into her he let his control snap. His thrusts, strong and fast, pushed her up the sheets. She grasped his biceps and clasping his torso with her knees as if he was her riding wolf, she left in Orgrimmar.

With every jerk of his hips, he literally pounded the air out of her. Her shoulders were pushed against his elbows, which supported his bulk, and she felt sore already. Yet the up circling pleasure that bloomed inside her made her all too eager to let this continue until she would pass out.

It didn't take long for both of them to reach their peak with this frenzied pace. Arching her back in countless little spasms her channel convulsed around the worgens member, squeezing it like a starving serpent. The searing gush plastering her insides was almost enough to send her over the cliff a second time.

For a moment, there was only the sound of panting lungs and the drumming sound of thick raindrops against the walls of their little sanctuary.

A soft chuckle came from her shoulder. "Sated?" her wolf asked, propping himself up to look at her. As expected, there was that ever present sly roguish gleam in his eyes.

Biting her lip, she suppressed a giggle. Then she gave his snout a quick kiss. "Forget it, wolf," she said, mirroring his sly gleam. "You won't be able to talk yourself out of business after just one shot." By the way, when did she become so bold? – Stretching leisurely under him like a cat, ignoring the ache, she grinned up at him cunningly. "If you are up to it, that is…"

A low growl vibrated through the air. Dagger like teeth grazed her neck when he growled, "I'm always ready to serve a lady." It almost unnerved her to hell to see that his smug grin never left his features.

_A rogue_, she thought. _Kill my ass, I bed he is a rogue!_

Embracing him as far as her arms could go she licked her lip. Her eyes roamed his furry face and the words she had been thinking for a while slipped, "I really want you to kiss me…"

His hands had started their journey over her body again, accompanied by her endless hums of pleasure when she arched into him. "Then the waiting will make it just sweater." He gave her nipple a hart shot pinch, the slight stabbing pain making her gasp. "Turn around."

Excitement coiled in her belly when she turned to lie on her stomach. Turning her head to look back at him she had to bite her lip again to stifle a moan. But please, who would not sight in pleasure if a man looked at you like this. Dark and malicious, like some foreboding danger, full of possession and greed, and the promise of endless pleasures.

His hand with its long claws raked the inside of her thigh before he squeezed her butt. The other hand pushed aside her hair, barring her back and shoulders, starting to press his fingertips at her skin, rubbing it like some massage.

If she thought he would go right down to action, he proved her wrong. Instead, his hands and his hungry gaze alone transformed into a relaxed puddle of female flesh, sighting and gasping her pleasure away. Unconsciously she lifted her bottom while pressing her cheek into the fabric.

His hard breathing was hot in her neck. Yet she didn't realize the chance, which took place. Not until her hazed mind registered the missing tickling of fur against her skin. _What…? _And where were his claws?

Looking over her shoulder her breath hitched.

Black. Yes, she had somehow expected him to be black in some way. That his fur had turned out to be brown after his first bath had startled her. Now she saw raven-black hair framing his face, his _human_ face!

She was too stunned to do or say anything, also when he grabbed her arms and pulled up. Whispering into her ear he said, "Didn't you wish for a kiss, my lady?" Instead of rough, his voice was like velvet to her ears, making her moan, while his hands soothingly stroked her arms.

"I did indeed," she murmured, leaning back into him. His body still felt warmer than a normal humans, and his eyes… they were still these ponds of golden liquid. "And I insist upon it!" She pulled him down with one hand entwined into his silky hair.

"I would never refuse you," he said against her lips before sealing them.

Basically, a kiss was just a simple touch; Phin had kissed many men in her long life. However, most of them had lost their faces in her memory; of others, she could only grasp a few attributes. The moment though, she kissed the man, who was her wolf, her beloved wolf, she knew one thing for sure: no matter how old she would grow, no matter if she would live for another six hundred or six thousand years, _him_ she would remember. For the rest of her life!

"_Woah…_"

"'Woah' yourself."

She blushed; she hadn't realized she had spoken aloud. And by the look at him, he was under the same impression as she was – and she felt her heat rise again when she felt something warm pressing against her thigh. They were far from finished…

"And don't bite your lips so often," he added darkly. "I have plans with those…"

_Easy for you to say_. "And what could that be, if I may ask?" She couldn't prevent another lip bite and writhed in his grasp when one of his hands just _didn't_ touch her clit.

"I'll make things up as I go," he replied.

Though he had changed physically, many of his attitudes stayed the same. There was still that sly gleam is his eyes and his tone, though dark held a certain deep-seated irony. And of course, those golden eyes, which stared right down into her soul, baring her to his gaze that had lost nothing of its open hunger for her. And it thrilled the hell out of her!

And his strength hadn't lessened. His touch was persistent and he started to re-discover her body. She tried to somehow escape these roaming hands, yet to no use. She ended in convulsing just another time in his arms, arching her back into him while pressing her ass against his crotch. Yes, that she-wolf of her wild fantasies… that had been her all along.

Moaning in delight, she spread her thighs more as he pushed up into her. Looping her arms around his neck she pulled him down to another kiss – one thing was for sure: she would coax him into transforming into a human as often as she could; she definitely got addicted to those lips…

Had their previous joining had been of the faster sort this one was… frustrating and torturous, yet overwhelmingly sexy at the same time. Her wolf (yes, he was still 'her wolf', no matter with or without fur) was thrusting firm and unhurried as if not even a second cataclysm could rouse him from it.

Once again, she found herself trapped in an endless spiral, leading up and up to highs, she hadn't yet explored. Rocking back against him she joined him in their erotic dance, adapting to his pace while sighting and squealing with every single plunge into her.

But even the strongest control would snap by too much pressure applied on it. When his hips changed to an erratic pace, again turning into that feral pace on the brink of pain, she braced herself for another backbreaking climax.

His arms came around her, almost crushing her. Biting down into her shoulder, she cried in surprise and pain alike – and came.

Shuddering in her climax, she shook helplessly in his grip, accepting his own come into her cavern. She felt the heat explode inside her while warm gushes of their combined fluids rushed down between her thighs and his.

She had passed out only a short time. She woke up the moment she felt cool water brush against her tender nethers. Groaning she shook her head to realize that she sitting in the bathroom, leaning against her wolf. With a cloth, he was carefully washing her and without magic, the water was pretty cool. Yet she welcomed it, her still heated body was relieved and with a sigh, she leaned head back against his shoulder.

That cloth… "That was my favorite dress…" she murmured, almost drooling on his shoulder.

A chuckle vibrated against her cheek. "I'll buy you another one, singing elfy," her wolf said, unhurriedly continuing his labor.

She wanted to add something but her still hazed brain wouldn't come up with any words so she dropped it, enjoying the welcoming feeling of being cared of by someone else. After he was done with cleaning her from the reminders of their passion, he quickly tended to himself and pulled of the bandages, obviously not in need of them now. Picking her limp body up he returned to the main room.

Her arms tightly around his neck she was reluctant to let him go again when she was lowered on the bed under the stairs. Lazy she observed him as he started to tidy up their nest. Smiling she let her eyes wander over his now furless form. Even for a human he was tall; could he be a rogue with that statue anyway? On his left shoulder, she saw the red jagged line where she had sutured his wound. Yes, it looked good… Worgen really were extraordinary if they could mend so fast.

She frowned: the Horde leaders would be very interested in this information…

On further observation, she had to confirm her previous statement: he really was a hot piece of a male human specimen! Lean with chiseled muscles and every bit the dominant man he was as a worgen… and he was cleaning up.

Biting her lip, she suppressed a giggle. Yes, that somehow didn't fit the picture at all – but it so fitted _him_.

Turning around she couldn't halt her hungry stares in time.

"If you keep it up like that, elf," he sighted grinning, "then we won't get anywhere."

Blushing she looked away quickly. "Not my fault…" she murmured, earning herself an amused laugh.

"Of course not," he said smug, making her pout.

"You can't blame me… for taking the chances _I _get," she replied, sleepily yawning while trying to regard him with a firm gaze – and yes, it failed.

"Neither of us will take any chances today, elf," he laughed, picking her up again to place her back into the nest. "It's late and I think you need another dose of sleep."

"Imma no… I'm not weary," she murmured.

A chuckle. "Of course not."

* * *

><p>The next morning, if it was morning anyway, started with a groan foreign to her ears. Entangled in sheets she rolled on her belly to prop herself up. Brushing aside the curtain of hair, the first thing she saw was an amused worgen sitting next to her.<p>

"Good morning, early birdy," he said smiling, making her groan another time.

"Note to self, no more sex with worgen; my brains are really not up for that…" she moaned, tucking away sheets before noticing she was wearing a simple linen shirt. Blinking she took him in. "Where did you find those clothes?" she finally asked.

Still in his human form, he apparently felt the urge to wear some garments – unlike in his furry form, which didn't show off much. Now he wore a similar shirt like her and dark pants. "It was upstairs in a chest. Since my gear isn't in any state to wear, I thought I should make good of what I can find."

Again, she bit lip while tucking the sheets around her legs; his human voice was just like his worgens and little sparks of excitement ran down her spine. Hopefully he didn't notice as fast now as he would in his lupine form… Still, he hadn't even touched her and yet her thoughts were already trailing to… those things… all those things he did to her… And to his kisses. – Furiously blushing she looked away awkwardly. _Blast_, she thought. _Of all the things he did, it's his kisses, which really freak me out!_

He chuckled. "You too active little bird," he said slyly. She didn't see him move, until his arms encircled her and pulled her into his lap so she straddled him. Squealing she thrashed at first, but with his face so close her breath hitched – _again_.

She hadn't really noticed it yesterday but now that he was so close, she could see his teeth. They were hardly to be called 'teeth'; they were _fangs_, close to those of beats of prey. – Swallowing her eyes followed his hands, as they lazily finger-combed her dark mass of untidy hair. No nails, more like claws…

"You're human, and yet you're not…" she mused slowly, taking in every detail like a bird looking at something shiny.

He smiled, not halting in his efforts with her tangled hair. "Some of us, who have been worgen for a longer term, lose their connection to their… anthropological part," he said. "They lose their humanity at some point. Though sane, many of them don't even have any real memory about being a human and accept their wolf-form as their true self. Only a few of them, _us_, decide to transform back."

"So," she pondered, "you are still… kind of between being a wolf and a man?"

"Something like that, yes," he answered, frowning at her mane that still withstood his efforts. "It has to do with our connection with the Emerald Dream. The longer we stay in our worgen form the closer this connection gets. At least that's what Talran said – one of the nightelves who helped us to control the beast," he added.

Her eyes went wide the further he went. Not only was he telling her something concerning his people but also something very personal. And she was a bloodelf! She was from the Horde, and he from the Alliance. Why telling her this? He could have refused to answer her question… After all, this information could turn out to be vital for the war efforts.

Finished with her hair, he cupped her face in one hand, staring right at her. Nervously she chewed her lip. She had an idea what he was looking at… and she didn't feel comfortable with it…

"Since we are talking about each other's anatomy" – oh, blast, she knew it! – "what is that with your eyes?"

Anxiously she cast a glance aside. She knew what he was pointing at, that her eyes lacked the most obvious mark of a bloodelf: the green felglow.

"Since the restoration of the Sunwell… we do not use fel energy anymore to sate our addiction. So over the last few years… the glow faded." She swallowed hart again. Did she just say that? Oh great Sun, she had! – She felt her insides churn.

"Ah, yes," he said, pondering a moment while still searching her face for… whatever he was looking for. Than he smiled. "I was wondering about that for a while, to tell you the truth. But I have to say, this color suits you much better than green could."

She gave a little chuckle. "Yeah…" Her eyes were violet, like her mothers.

Strange. This was vital intelligence, and she just shared it freely with him. Not even among the other Horde members it was known that the bloodelves were about to lose their felglow, that many already had. Many of her kin just continued to absorb as much fel energy as needed to keep the glow up – others, like her, just used a little spell to fake it. Since the Sunwell had been restored, there was no need for alternative arcane sources as it had been after the war. Sure, the Sunwell wasn't the same as it was before Arthas came, but it provided enough energy to keep their addiction in check.

This had opened new possibilities of surveillance upon the Alliance of course. The felglow was the only thing that separated a bloodelf from a high elf, and no non-elf could tell the difference apart from that…

Yet she didn't feel bad. She was trying to find that strange feeling of betrayal; after all, she had just said that every high elf among the Alliance forces and towns could be a bloodelven spy… And yet she couldn't make herself feel bad.

He didn't seem to think about those things. Instead, he was still staring into her face, as if he was trying to look into her soul. It was somewhat alarming yet she had the distinct feeling not to disrupt him in his thoughts…

"Why are you here?"

Tilting her head, she waited – but there was no panic. This was unsettling. The whole time, since she had buildup her camp here with an injured member of the Alliance, this was the one question, which outright sent her into fear and dismay. Her mission, the Hordes inner conflicts… how could she be such a traitor to share that? She was a member of the Horde, she had a code of honor, and she had friends, real friends, back in Orgrimmar… How could she even consider betraying them?

And beside of that she had to leave this place soon anyway. Her samples were up, done, and she had to find new ones, which meant she had to set up a new save place. – She hadn't thought about where to go after she would part with her wolf, but now that he put up the subject… Maybe she could go to the east. Or north into Blackwald itself.

She had no idea. She still didn't _know_ if Sylvanas had used the Plague or not, she also didn't know where to start looking for traces _if_ she had… Nobody did… except…

She looked back at her wolf, who had remained silent during her pondering. _If_ Sylvanas really had committed this crime… _if_ the Plague had really been used…

"What do you know… about the Plague?"

* * *

><p>Yeah, by and by I get closer to the plot again… at least, that's what I'm thinking ;)<p>

See you soon :)


	9. Chapter 9

Yes, this is gonna be tricky…

Anyway, read, review and I hope you enjoy yourselves :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter9<strong>

Black empty windows stared down at her, making her shake in fright while carefully stalking after her companion. She felt tense like an overstrung bow, which was about to snap. – A warm rough hand closed around her smaller one and she exhaled shakily. Smiling weakly at her wolf she gave him her silent reassurance that she was all right… in a sense at least. But his hand felt warm around hers and she felt the shivers vanish.

They were wandering through the Forest of Blackwald and had to avoid one worgen patrol and three Forsaken scouts. Her wolf was about to jump on them, but she had pleaded to spare them, even if it was only for the sake of saving time. She still couldn't bear the thought of her allies being killed by her wolf. – Though reluctant, he had withstood the urge to take them down.

Since they had left the safety of their little sanctuary, he was in his wolf form again. With his sharpened senses and her tracking skills, they had so far been able to avoid every meeting with other parties, which came across. They had agreed that it would do them no good to interfere with any of the warring parties.

"My comrades wouldn't disturb a lone wolf and his companion," he had said back in their sanctuary, while repairing and altering his gear. "But if they notice us, they would most likely report to higher instances. And even I can't say for sure what they will do with that. As for your Forsaken allies," he shrugged, "well, we both know pretty well what they would do if they'd see us…"

Yes, that she knew. Even if she was a bloodelf, she knew that the Forsaken would prefer to catch and interrogate her – especially since she was in the company of a worgen! In any case, things would get complicated at best, deadly at worst. 'Do not trust the living', was one of the credos of the Forsaken she had learned during her studies in the Undercity – and she was still very much alive.

Her wolfs gear wasn't the only thing that had to be altered. Phins own equipment had to be modified, too. Removing all red signs and Horde emblems, she would now pass as a member of the 7th Legion, disguised as a high elf. As long as they wouldn't meet anyone of the Legion, this role was fool proved. Neither worgen nor other Alliance members would recognize the difference.

During their labor, Phin couldn't help herself but to notice the special fashion of her wolfs gear. After it had been cleaned and restored to its former glory she wondered, what kind of a position her wolf held within the gilnean society. The vest looked like it was worth a fortune… Since he wasn't armed, she had given him her own dagger and he had been able to find a long knife in the house. Though by no means close to the weapons he used to wield he assured her, that these would do.

The preparations of the journey took them about three days. Three days in which they had planned their route, their equipment, and in which they had tons of sex.

Phin smiled by the thought of it, feeling warmer again while giving her wolfs hand a short squeeze. She didn't know how these three days had changed her so much that the mere thought made her happy again. Looking on the broad back of her wolf she felt only compassion and… yes, love. At some point, while she had watched him repairing his gear or doing his exercises to bring his weakened body back in form… or when she massaged his shoulder to make it loose for those exercises… she didn't know when, but while she watched him, it was plain: she had fallen for him.

Maybe it had started that very moment when he answered her question about the Plague. "There is only on such thing I can recall," he had said. "It was in the Lights Dawn Cathedral in Gilneas City after Liam's death."

She must have been more than anxious for him to continue. She hung at his lips, thirsting for more words but he would wait, taking his time while re-thinking this situation. Than he had asked, what kind of a Plague she meant anyway.

At this point, she had decided to just go for it. "I mean the Plague, also called the Potent Plague, which had been invented by the Forsaken apothecaries in the Undercity," she answered. "It has the potential to kill the living and the undead. Originally it was designed to be used again the Scourge forces in Northrend.

"After the massacre at the Wrathgate, maybe you have heart about it," she went on, "the Plague was banned and its use forbidden. But we believe, that means _Hellscream_ believes, that the Dark Lady has used the Plague here in Gilneas and has therefore ignored the warchiefs strict orders…"

Her wolf had frowned at this point. "And how do you fit into this?" he asked. "You do not look like a high ranking Horde official and from what I have heard about Garrosh he only want's those of his own kin around him, let alone someone of another race…"

Smiling slightly she gave him a sad shrug. "True, he prefers orcs; that much we all know. He believes them to be the true core of the Horde…" She sighted. "But he would have never allowed the creation of this Plague in the first place – at least that much you can give him…

"Anyway, you are right of course, I have no high position within the Horde, I'm just… well, a mage, and an alchemist. And that was why Hellscream sent for me."

Staring disbelieving at her, her wolf asked, "_Sent_ for you?"

She shrugged. "Hellscream wanted to send a single agent behind the frontlines to check if the Dark Lady had really used the Plague here."

Her wolf frowned. "Why would he bother? The Plague would surely make things easier for his forces…"

"It's not so easy," she answered sadly. "The Plague had been banned out of moral reasoning. Thrall had forbidden its use after the massacre in Northrend and Garrosh because he says that using the Plague would be dishonorable."

"Dishonorable?" Her wolf spat. "Just the word for a warmonger to say!" The fury on his face made it quite clear to her what he thought of Hellscreams sense of honor…

"Anyway," she went on, "Hellscream believes that the Dark Lady has used the Plague here… and he sent me to investigate."

His gaze went over to her table-lab. "So that's what it really is for," he said. Then he laughed. "Oh boy, I'm really fortunate to run into an alchemist who actually had her laboratory with her." The kiss he gave her then made her insides boil. Even as a human (or at least mostly human) he still had this raw sexual energy with which he almost devoured her. It made her shiver, her heart fluttered and even if she wasn't a bird herself, she strongly believed her heart was.

"But," he continued after they parted, still a bit breathless, "as a matter of fact I can answer your question now. I have seen those barrels, the Forsaken use to transport the stuff – and we know it's the potent one you describe since we overheard Sylvanas order of its use herself."

"We?" she raised a brow.

"A fellow comrade, Tobias Mistmantle, and myself. We overheard a conversation between Sylvanas and Garrosh' watchdog… 'Not even their bones will remain'." A snarl crawled up his throat and for a moment there, he bared his fangs.

At this point Phin flinched. She couldn't help but wonder why her wolf wasn't in the least hostile towards her given his open hatred towards the Banshee Queen and the Forsaken… for logical reasons. Her fondness for him however grew with every passing moment: no matter how much he hated Sylvanas and her cursed people, he did not extent this hatred towards the tiny elf sitting in his lap.

"What happened next?" she whispered.

A moment silence. "We had an advantage," he growled. No matter his human form, he was every bit a wolf in spirit and the coldness she saw there, made her shudder. "We were able to delay their attack and evacuate the city."

Unconsciously she exhaled. Phin knew Sylvanas; she knew that the Banshee Queen had changed after the campaign in Northrend. Until the fall of the Lichking, she would have sacrificed everything and anything necessary to achieve her goal. But when she came back, and with her the valkyr, former servants of the Lichking who had been forced to bow to his will, she had changed. She took over command of the siege on Gilneas and would never again spoil her people's lives. In fact, Phin remembered, she grew rather fond and caring for them…

She couldn't deny it; she truly felt a big deal of sympathy towards Sylvanas and her followers, the Forsaken. A fate like theirs, death and undead, slavery and finally freedom only to be spit upon, hated, and mistrusted even by allies… Yes, Phin could see the point there that the Forsaken turned a blind eye on the suffering of others – not all of them, of course. She had met many Forsaken in the past years and some were… just adorable oddballs.

Feeling the urge to say something, she said, "I hope there were no victims among the civilians…"

Blinking her wolf was startled a moment. He had seemed to be far away in the past in which the future of his kingdom and the lives of thousands of fellow gilneans were on the line. Exhaling hard he raked his raven-black hair, it seemed to strain him to return to the present… "Yeah…" he finally said. "I mean, no. No, there were no civil victims… no…"

Awkward silence fell.

Phin chewed upon her lips, staring under frowned brows on an interesting spot on the floor. Soooo, Sylvanas and her Forsaken _had_ deployed the Plague. They wanted to use it to extinct an entire city! As much as she tried, the monstrosity did not escape her as she sat here in a little house in a worgens lap. The murder of countless civilians… what was wrong with Sylvanas to even consider that, especially after what happened at the Wrathgate and Putress betrayal… and then the battle for the Undercity when the Alliance under King Wrynn tried to occupy the city…

Nothing but disaster had been caused by this Plague!

Nevertheless, that didn't change anything, now she knew what to do. And it made her tremble in fright: She would have to walk right into hell. She would have to go into the ruins of Gilneas City, the place in which the Plague had been unleashed. And there she would finally find the positive samples.

Suddenly shaking violently she felt cold sweat all over.

_Well, I had a good life, right? It's time to say good bye. This I won't survive._

* * *

><p>"Over there." Her wolf pointed at something dark. It looked like an old shack; probably people had stored here their tools of labor while working in the forest in earlier times before the worgen curse.<p>

"Do you think it's been used lately?" she asked, brushing aside her hair under the heavy hood of her cloak.

Frowning he took in their surroundings, than he shook his head. "No. Too easy to find for the enemy – it would do as a nice trap though…"

She swallowed at that. "_Could_ it be a trap? And we walk right into it?"

"Don't think so," he answered, already stalking up the shack. Inhaling deeply he tasted the air surrounding them. "It doesn't smell like there has been anyone near this place for weeks, and only twelve days ago I coordinated the traps around Blackwald myself…"

"Oh." She cast him an unsure glance. Somehow, she hadn't really managed to feel comfortable when he would slip one comment or another about his underground missions against those people she still considered her allies… It was awkward every time again.

And he knew, he always sensed it. She didn't know how but every time she felt uneasy he would pull her close and stroke her – and that alone made her calm again. She had the urge to fight it – it wasn't right to get so closely involves with an enemy, right? – but she couldn't deny it: The moment she would have to choose, she knew she would choose him, consequences be damned!

This moment was no exception: Taking her hand, squeezing it short and firmly, he led her to the shack. Inside he locked the door and took her bag from her before pulling her into his arms. He stroked her hair and back, and as much as she loved it, she hated it to be so… hysterical betimes. She was strong, damn it, she was an experienced veteran and hero of the Horde, no greenhorn or rookie who just finished her first trials… But she knew. She was a mage, a bookworm. She could stand her ground in battle, yes, but she wasn't and never would be a… a soldier as he was…

"Don't think about it too much, little bird," he growled, his snout pressed into her hair before pushing her back to look at her. "Relax and take some rest. Tomorrow will be exhausting when we climb those mountains west of us. We will set up out next camp there, the day after that… the capital is yours."

Breathing hard she willed her heart so go slow again. She nodded and started to disrobe while her wolf made a little camp for them. Chanting she started to ward the little place, after every single placing she could hear a soft sizzling in the air. Finished with the wards she created a magical fire, no real fire but a source of warmth and light that neither needed wood to burn nor burn down the shack if kept unchecked. After that, she searched her bag for some supplies, dried fruit and cheese again with her conjured bread. Their water supply would do for now, but tomorrow she would refill them, before they would start their climbing.

Settled after a while she sat down next to her wolf, leaning against him. His overly warm body was a welcome feature since she was only wearing a thin undergarment. He had also shed the upper layer of his leather suit and they were both wounded up into blankets they had taken from the little house in Stormglen.

"In fact it's my place after all," he had said, but hadn't answered when she asked him how that could be.

She sighted, changing her position to lay with her head in his lap. "I'm not made for this," she mumbled darkly.

"How do you come to that?" His clawed paw absently raked her hair, while he said with crossed legs on the ground.

Sighting she looked up. "I think too much," she then said, giving him a lopsided grin.

He chuckled at that, not saying anything else.

She hadn't come up with a satisfying explanation to why he was still with her. He had taken care of her since they had left the little house and a little spark of fear almost expected him to vanish as soon as they would step into the open.

But he had stayed. In fact, he was her guide now, leading them the fasted way to their destination. She couldn't find an answer to that. Of all she knew about him, he was a devoted servant of King Greymane, maybe no fawning one, but he was dedicated for the cause to regain his kingdom and to win this war for his people.

And now he helped her. Even if her mission had nothing to do with the war itself in a direct way, sabotaging her would make more sense, interrogating her would be more likely, not to mention capturing her…

That tiny spark of doubt made her think that he could indeed lead her into a trap, that he could actually sell her out to his comrades for worse.

Yet that spark was tiny, and lying here, her head in his lap… those doubts kept themselves minor in her mind.

She smiled when she remembered that night in the little house. She had sat a few minutes frozen in her wolfs lap, still terrorized by the thought to actually enter the gilnean capital with its black houses and threatening demeanor. How could she even dream to enter and leave it again undetected? How could she keep herself hidden from the eyes of the Alliance _and_ the Horde? She didn't know the city; she had no idea how and where to even enter it. No doubt, it was highly fortified by both sides; there was no way to get past the outposts… She could use some kind of a diversion but those were hart to control. The diverted could run into the wrong direction and right up to her or they could come back too fast with reinforcements… So many things could go wrong, _too_ many!

Her wolf had apparently tried to talk to her for a while there. Sighting he had grabbed her chin and bit her lip – rough. She tasted her own coppery blood and would have jumped if he had let her. Instead, she squealed in pain and surprise alike, staring at him with big round eyes.

Her wolf on the other hand was not concerned about that, he just lightly sucked in her lip, licking up the blood, while one hand held her neck in an iron yet painless grasp and the other her was around her waist, preventing any attempt of escape.

"Don't go away to places where I can't follow you," he finally said pleading, making her blink. Stroking her soothingly, the pain in her lip faded quickly while he continued, "If you really need to go to the capital for that job, than consider me your guide."

* * *

><p>Phin chuckled, her head still lying in her wolfs lap, who regarded her with a raised brow and a questioning glance. "I… was just remembering when you said you would volunteer as my guide," she said smiling.<p>

Stroking her cheek with one claw, he chuckled in amusement. "I can tell you," he said, "that face of yours was priceless."

Pinching his thigh (which was useless since he was still wearing leathers), she snorted. "You can't blame me. After all it had made more sense if you would tell me to go _south_ to get there," she mumbled.

"Yes, maybe," he admitted. "But on the other hand, we did settle that."

Oh yes, they did…

Phin remembered it well, her petrified face and shock. She had almost given up return to Silvermoon, to ever see the sun again. Then he had bitten her and said that he would escort her to Gilneas City. How to react to that?

"I'm from the Horde!" she had finally blurred.

"I know that," he had calmly replied. "Even more reason to make sure you get in and out of there alive."

She was at a loss for words.

"Do I have to bite you again?" he asked slyly. Squealing she jerked back, both hands clasped over her mouth. Chuckling he had cuddled her.

"That one hurt," she complained.

"I know, that's why I did it." And there was das sly gleam again…

Rubbing the spot, she glared at him. "This isn't funny," she mumbled gloomy.

"I'm aware of that, too." With that, he was serious again, stroking her arms and shoulders firmly. It warmed her up and she had found it rather hard not to purr in pleasure… "But I know that you want to finish this job properly, even if it dangerous. And I do not want to hear of my comrades that they killed a lone elf somewhere in the streets of Capital City…" Resting his forehead against hers, he added whispering, "I couldn't stand that."

She didn't know how to react. Mouth gaping she was overwhelmed, not by questions but with joy! Crying in delight, she dove at him. Knocking him over, she had kissed him. Her wolfs moment of surprise was short lived, though, and with a sight she felt his arms coming around her. Entangled like this they parted only reluctantly.

"I could do this all day long," she whispered, breathing hard for some more air.

"It's settled then?" he asked, stroking her back, almost innocently gathering up her shirt while she was already opening his shirt.

Letting her hands roam over his chest, touching is feathery with her fingertips she smiled. "You bet it is."

After that, things were muddled – and then they started their preparations.

* * *

><p>Dragging herself up she settled in her wolfs lap, resting her head at his shoulder.<p>

"But you can't blame me for… being a bit scared," she whispered. "So many things can go wrong…"

"We have been over this, elf." He lifted her chin, taking her in sternly. His tongue flicked over her lower lip. "We will go there, fast and invisible. And we will go out there the same way. And you will not freak yourself out." He smiled. "Nobody will harm you, I promise."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "You do realize that your life is in danger there, too," she stated.

"Oh, I know," he said with a sly wink. "But why should I bother? I've got myself a bodyguard after all."

"So?" She raised her brows. "And who might that be?"

"She is a powerful mage, who saved my life." She bit her lip, a new blush spreading over her cheeks. "With her securing my back," he went on, "I'm very confident to get this business done with."

"Well, I hope she shows up fast than…" she murmured. "I'd really like to meet her…"

"I'm sure you will… one day."

* * *

><p>But not today. It not so easy to jump from one tense to the other so I really hope you could follow the plot :)<p>

And yes, I try to stay as close to the inGame-Lore as possible ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter10**

For someone, who grew up in the lush forests of Eversong, a magical place of everlasting spring and bounty, Gilneas was a trauma.

The elves of Quel'Thalas where no druids like their elder cousins, the nightelves, but they had developed a close relationship with nature nonetheless – or it was a relationship the Highborn themselves had brought with them from Kalimdor. The high elves and later the bloodelves could sense nature's spirit; they felt close to it in the wild, and nature itself embraced them. It had been like that for millennia.

Since her arrival in Gilneas, though, Phin felt a constant hostility of the land itself. As if it knew exactly, that she wasn't supposed to be there, an unwelcome guest, an enemy. Bad weather, the creeping cold and the constant knowledge that she could be pounced at and killed added to her overstrung nerves.

The weeks of solitude had almost wrecked her. However, even in the company of a son of this cursed land, watching down on a gloomy cemetery didn't help her nerves to adjust.

"Aderic's Repose," her wolf growled. Since they had left the shack in Blackwald, he was strangely ineloquent. Mostly he was growling or snarling instead of talking, but she soon came to realize that it must be some kind of language after all… she just didn't know it.

Yet she didn't understand his plan. This week of traveling her wolf was adamant, that they had to get here, saying that this place would be where they would enter the city. How he wanted to do that escaped her now that she saw the place…

After they had climbed out of Blackwald, which lied in a vast valley, the mountains had awaited them. They had to climb a lot and Phin still felt her knees and shoulders ache. She doubted very much that she would have been able to do the climbing if her wolf hadn't helped her… She would have chosen a different route, a longer one with less climbing, but since he was her native guide, she bowed to his decisions.

Even when they came past a swamp, she hadn't back-talked to him. Hailwood Marsh, as he introduced the place, was only scarcely visited by Forsaken scouts, and even if she hated the place (stick, stinking and full of insects), she reluctantly realized that this was at least the saver route. At least concerning the Forsaken, after only a few strides in which her legs cried in strain, her wolf gave a warning snarl – a worgen patrol.

She immediately vanished into invisibility, while her wolf stayed visible, crotched between the trees. They had arranged about how to react in case of getting close to either party. In case they would encounter Forsaken, they would both get into cover – well, Phin would take them both into that parallel realm to make them both invisible. In case of worgen, she would hide alone while he would keep himself hidden, barely seen by his comrades.

"Even if they'd see me, they will think me a single agent given my armor," her wolf had explained the strategy. "We often use single individuals for sabotage operations. The Forsaken expect us to operate in packs, so this method gives us a slight advantage."

"What is it with your armor?" she had asked. Except, that his armor was well made and worth a house, she hadn't find any extraordinary signs on it. "And why don't you want them to see you?"

He had laughed, short and cheerless. Once again, she thought herself to be an oblivious klutz… "Because they believe me dead or imprisoned by the Forsaken."

Blushing she looked away. Yes, of course, she knew. They had been together in the house for more than a week, by then his comrades must have found the reminders of his unit and counted the losses – and noticed that one of theirs was missing…

She bit her lip again, while he went on calmly. "My normal leather armor has certain details on it, which are known among the packs and the 7th Legion. As soon as they would see it, they'd recognize me. So I had to modify some parts."

"But…" Yes, this was bugging her since a while… "But why don't you want to return?"

He grinned. "Do _you_ want me to go back?"

"_No!_" That was little tad too fast… a big tad too fast. She swore under her breath – only to turn liquid when he encircled her with his long arms, pressing her against him. "I mean… I… don't want you to leave… me." Her voice was only a whisper when she finished. She blushed furiously. It was one thing to know something for yourself, to speak it out aloud to someone else… she felt embarrassed beyond reckoning.

"As I said before," he said, lifting her chin to look at him. "I am the most fortunate man who walks this world."

* * *

><p>Aderic's Repose was an old hero's tomb. Here the gilneans buried their kings – King Greymanes son Liam laid here.<p>

"We will stay here between the rocks," her wolf said curtly, taking her bag. In their little party, she had taken over the duty to carry their equipment. Thanks to the space extending spell on her bag she hardly felt its weight. While he put out a little makeshift tent, she was already busy with the wards before she joined him.

The rocks were slippery as they camped on a ledge. Looking down Phin took in their surroundings. To their right she could make out the looming roofs of Gilneas City behind a gigantic wall surrounded by a broad moat. The moat itself would open out into a river, its name unknown by her. If there wouldn't be any fog around them, she would be able to see Keel Harbor, the place from where the gilnean refugees were brought to safety in Darnassus, the capital of the nightelves.

North of their little camp between the rocks, she could make out a bridge that leads to the north. She knew from her briefing in Orgrimmar, that in the north close to the border to Silverpine, the hardest battles for raw materials were fought.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see any way or bridge into the city. Surrounded by the moat, which was at least two times broader than the Elrendar River in Eversong, the city indeed had a good first barrier against any aggressor. No wonder the Forsaken just turned to the very weapon that would wipe clean the city without having the need to occupy it by traditional means.

Looking over her shoulder, she spied at her wolf, who was almost finished with their tent. What plan did he have? From what she grasped, he had a strategy; he just didn't share it with her. She respected his leftovers of resentments against her, Horde and all, but still she felt a thorn of hurt in her chest… She trusted him with her life after all; didn't she deserve at least a little spark of faith from him?

After finishing their little camp they settled inside the tent, again illuminated by Phins little 'lightball'. Eating in silence, she could feel her heart thrum, the cheese in her hand almost untouched.

She bit her lip. What was he up to? –

"Tomorrow we will enter the cemetery," he started suddenly, making her jump slightly.

"And then?" she asked, unable to cover up her nervous shivering.

He stayed silent for a moment, regarding her thoughtfully. Looking back at him, it dawned slowly to her. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a vital secret of his people… She knew it was impossible to enter the city undetected by its protectors, and she was sure that she wouldn't pass as a high elf – it was the capital after all. He must have a secret plan, she thought. Something he could not share lightly…

She touched his hand (claw? Paw?). She couldn't make his decision any easier; she could only… she could do nothing. By now, she was depending upon him; he was her guide. If he would leave her tomorrow she would be stuck and end up getting herself killed in an attempt to enter the city.

But on the other hand, what did he thought about this? – She knew she had a crush on him in more than one way, but what about him? What did he feel for her? Back in their little house she was sure he felt affection for her, maybe even love, but during their journey he became closer and silent. Maybe he just helped her, because he felt responsible for her – after all, she had saved his life…

Meeting her awkward gaze, he smiled; it was no reassuring smile, it was… it didn't help her calming her nerves. Let him pulling her close she settled comfortable in his lap – a place she had discovered that seemed to be made for her. Rolling into a tiny ball, she rested her head against his chest, imagining how his heartbeat under his vest would be. Was it fast or steady as it used to be?

He would not answer her question nor would he say anything about his further plans. She waited a few more minutes, but when she was finished with her little meal without him saying a word, she sighted.

What if he would really lead her into a trap?

_Then I will cry – and I won't fight. It would be over then… _Silent tiers gathered in her eyes. She didn't want it to end…

* * *

><p>The night wasn't a resting one. Phin and her wolf were both exhausted and tense in their silent vigil for the following morning. <em>This could be my last night in freedom<em>, she thought before the breaking of dawn. _I might as well… enjoy it._

She wanted to touch him, more than she ever wanted to. Yet, the moment she made out the grey streak of dawn on the sky, she clasped both hands. This was not the moment to have these urges. She had to focus. She had to stay alert. And he had to be, too. Tough lying in his arms embrace, feeling how his body warmth flooded her, it was hard to focus on the task ahead. Did she really want to go into that city and get them both into trouble? Was her duty worth to forsake this?

Their departure was silent. Taking a short breakfast of conjured bread, the last supplies they had brought from Stormglen depleted, they broke up their little camping space. Stuffing their equipment back into the enchanted bag, Phin dismantled the wards.

Somehow, the anxiety had faded. She was as calm as she had never felt before since she set foot into this land. The whole night she had thought about her home in Eversong, about her friends of the Horde… her long lost family. She felt saint now, refined, like a convict walking the steps to the gallows.

She could chose to leave and to find a way into the city on her own – and it was a highly guarded fortress. Her chances were remote; she would die at the hands of the defenders. She could find her way back to Orgrimmar, admitting failure to the warchief, but that would have negative consequences to not only her but also her people: coming back in failure was worse than dying while trying in the eyes of the warchief and his Horde…

So the only thing left was trust. She had to trust his man, who freely volunteered to guard her and to bring her safe and well into the city. There were no guaranties, that he wouldn't turn her to his comrades for ugly interrogations and who knew what else, but…

What else could she do? By now, she knew by heart, that if he would turn against her… she wouldn't raise a finger, not even to protect herself from harm…

"Let's go." Her wolfs voice raised from her gloomy thoughts. It had started to drizzle while they broke up their little camp.

Phin met his gaze. It was steady, calm, just as she knew it. He was like a rock in a wild storm. – Taking his outstretched hand, she allowed her sense of touch to take over again.

Waves of warmth rolled over her the moment their hands touched. She felt as if an invisible blanked was engulfing her, covering any sane thought. Yes, even if she would die today, this she would remember. – Straightening up she closed her tiny hand around his paw, feeling calm and steady now. This days end… it would be interesting to say the least, she thought while following her wolf down the mountain to Aderic's Repose.

* * *

><p>She was less than a step behind him while they climbed down the rocks to the cemetery. Almost bumping into him her heart was thrumming again in her chest, as if it knew that this were most likely the last hours in its six hundred years of life. It was beating in frenzy, as if it would like to beat for some more centuries likely to come if she hadn't decided this very morning that she would rather die than leaving her wolf.<p>

This day would be some kind of twilight of gods. It felt a bit elevated but nonetheless… how else to deal with the certainty, that this day could end in a disaster?

Her wolf still held her hand in his. She was thankful for that. Heart beating fast she had more than once the urge to run away. Yet she also felt curiosity. What was her wolf up to? He surely had a plan. If he wanted to turn her to his comrades, he had his chances earlier during their little journey. He had aimed for this place like a seeker looking for some kind of divine revelation. Now that they finally stood inside the cemetery, hidden between the fir trees, the sensation that he was indeed up to something grew with each step they took. And whatever it was… it must be some kind of a big secret.

She felt her heart skip a beat. She was about to learn the secret, he was hiding, probably a secret well hidden by his people. Was it so surprising then that he was reluctant to share it with her?

"There," he said suddenly.

Blinking her eyes followed his outstretched claw. A small house, a little chapel stood there in silent tranquility, guarding the cemetery and all its buried souls. It stood on the other end of the cemetery beyond a hill, which on its top held a huge crypt (probably the royal family's tomb).

"That's our destination," her wolf added, his eyes constantly racing across their surroundings. He was tense, she could tell. Ironically, his anxiety made her feel better… Stretching out her inner arcane eye, she searched for other humanoids around them.

They were alone.

Her wolf seemed to sense the same with his sharp unfailing senses. Grabbing her hand, he crept closer to the chapel. Every few steps he would pause, checking, and continue. Tenseness was all around them like a cloud and she barely dared to breath. The 'what if'-questions infested her strained brain until they reached the chapel.

Motioning her to stay silent (which was needless since her lips where pressed into a thin line from strain) he let her behind the chapel. There she saw what had been hidden from the mountainside view: a door, almost invisible under thick bushes and leafs, on the ground leading down into what must be some kind of a cellar. She had seen those before countless times during her travels. Was this building a chapel anyway? She wasn't so sure anymore…

The moment, her wolf set out to open the door, she tensed up, expecting a loud creek or anything. But nothing like that; the door swung open silently as if it was used frequently – and didn't help her to calm down. Doors like this, doors, which were used repeatedly, often hid unpleasant things – and persons.

Swallowing she took a deep breath. Her wolf motioned her down the stairs she could make out before they faded into darkness.

Slowly she began her descent.

* * *

><p>Her elven eyes didn't need long to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. Staring around it smelled slightly moldy; whatever this house or chapel was, it wasn't often used despite the non-creaking backdoor. With an almost soundless thump, her wolf jumped down the stairs after closing the door behind him.<p>

"What now?" she asked, her voice nothing but a whisper.

Signing her to keep her silence, she stepped back against the wall at his motion. Pressing herself into a dark corner next to the stairs, she stared into darkness. Her wolf tasted the air around them, probably trying to find out, who had been here before them and when. Yet, why had he brought her here? It was early morning so it couldn't be some new camping spot on their journey. She had imagined that they would aim for a bridge or so to walk over, but this underground creepy cellar wasn't like anything she would have expected for today's localities…

"What now?" she repeated, having a hard time to keep that old hysteria out of her voice. _I'm a champion of the Horde_, she thought determined. _So get a bloody grip, girl! Besides, it was _your_ idea so _quit_ it!_

He didn't say anything, instead just staring down at her as if he would see her for the first time. Golden orbs, those orbs she came to love, which followed her every step in the real world and in her dreams, stared down into her purple ones, looking for… what was it? Did he have doubts about helping her, about being her guide? He knew by now that she needed him. She didn't like to admit it; her pride cringed by the thought, but there was no denying it: without his aid, she would never make it into the city.

Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze with all dignity and purpose she could master in this moment. If he was thinking her unworthy of his aid, well, than she had to convince him otherwise.

A moment (it felt as if he stood and stared there for hours), he didn't say anything. She couldn't see him quite as well as she would like to, but whatever it was he was looking for in her face, he seemed to have found it (or he didn't, how could she know?). Sighting he turned away. Walking to the back wall, his paw seamed to fumble for something – and found it. With a 'click' she heart wood slide away. Gasping she stared into the gaping mouth of utter blackness, that opened all of a sudden right before her.

_A secret passage?_

"This," he answered.

* * *

><p>Gilneas' most beloved son was dead, but the king would not forsake his people. In an attempt to save every Gilnean, he opened the very ground for them, leading them to safety and after that into a bright future beyond the ocean.<p>

Up to this day the Forsaken were at a loss when it came to the question how a whole city was evacuated in a single night. By now, the gilnean defenders had been successful in keeping this passage a secret from the Horde – until this day, when one of their very sons let a tiny bloodelf into darkness.

Phin was riven between tenseness and curiosity. Of course, she knew what had happened here in Gilneas since the cataclysm when Garrosh decided to take advantage of the rift torn into the Greymane Wall, leering at the resources of the peninsula. At first things had looked devastating for the Forsaken since the warchief used them as cannon fodder against the wall. Then the Banshee Queen had finally returned from Northrend and took over command from Hellscream, who wasn't what one could call positive about that.

Since Sylvanas was in charge, the Horde strategy changed to the benefit of the Forsaken, none of them was sent off in the unknown and the Dark Lady was determined to gather intelligence first before sending off troops. Her Dark Rangers, former high elf rangers from Quel'Thalas, were a vital weapon in this, recruiting and training new rangers from the Forsaken ranks. – Phin had been impressed when she witnessed the war efforts first hand…

She still felt torn, though. She was a member of the Horde. The Horde, especially the Forsaken, had taken in her people in their darkest hour. Of course, they had their own reasons to do so, but they helped when all other allies turned their backs at them, namely the Alliance. And now, even while fulfilling her duty for the warchief, for the Horde, she felt like a traitor.

Walking behind her wolf, her hand tightly clutched by his as he almost dragged her along, she barely dared to breathe. She knew that at the end of this passage a whole company of worgen could wait for her, taking her prisoner and torture her, torture her for information and the simple pleasure of hurting someone of the other faction, an enemy. People were like that, no matter their race. Phin new from experience that evil like this could be found everywhere. War was the best method to bring forth the worst of a people…

As for her, she knew that this evil could await her in Gilneas City… yet she went on, her jaw set stubbornly. What else could she do?

She had thought about it for hours the last night. Even without the passage, things hadn't changed much. If she would go into the city on her own, her chances of survival and success were remote. Simply vanishing into a parallel realm with capable mages all over the place wouldn't do the job; they would detect her, or they would at least realize that something was amiss – and that would be not much different from being caught.

Secondly, she didn't know the city. The Kor'kron spymaster hadn't gave her any details about it. She only knew from some Forsaken soldiers she talked with that the city was divided in four sections. Else from that… she would be lost long before she would even set foot into that metropolis.

And this? Somehow, she imagined, this little bargain with her wolf was of the unholy sort. He wasn't _supposed_ to help her! He was supposed to fight her… and that was frightening. The possibility of walking open eyed into a trap still haunted her mind. They had been together all the time, she made wards to secure them both while sleeping, but they also prevented her wolf to re-enter again if he would have left her.

That at least eased her stressed nerves.

Still there could be some kind of a trap in the end. Dozens of defenders could just sit in a chamber in the end; they might be unaware but as soon as they would see her, she had no doubt about how they would react…

And her wolf? He was silent, and just as tense as she was. His pace was fierce as he strode along. Unlike on the surface he didn't look around here, only occasionally he made a sudden halt, sniffing and continued without saying a word. From his behavior, she could grasp only assumptions about what he was thinking…

He wasn't at all at ease; it was as if he was the intruder here and not her. He had kept himself or at least his identity as much hidden from his people as she was hiding from them. By now, they both were successful in this. Still she couldn't make out why he wouldn't want to re-join his brethren… He knew a great deal about their inner command structure and from what she had grasped before, he was the man behind a number of nasty traps (or at least one of the men in charge) she had heart from Forsaken soldiers.

So why sticking with a bloodelf agent? Except for him, nobody new about her and he didn't take any chance to contact his comrades – that she would have noticed… or did she? – He could have slipped a note in that shack. Or gave those worgen-patrols, they met before, some signs she hadn't noticed –

_Phin, you're making yourself crazy!_ Shaking her head she clutched her wolfs hand… paw. _Whatever happens from now on… is not yours to resolve._ The ground under her feed slowly rose during their walk; they were close to the end of the passage it seemed… Phin felt her heart racing as she kept walking, her hand swallowed by the larger one of her wolf. Either she would die the next few moments… or she would have to wait a little bit longer…

_I've been lucky this far… maybe… maybe I can count on luck one more time…?_

* * *

><p>Yes, I know – they're taking their time, but what can I do? I'm just the writer ;)<p>

R&R and I hope you enjoyed it so far :)


	11. Chapter 11

I think, I mentioned before, that I try to keep as close to the inGame-Lore as possible... Unfortunately, at some points I have to make some… artistically modifying's :)

Since I don't do any PvP I rely on the infos I read in the WoW-Wiki – and mix it with what I think make sense (the battleground-map for example doesn't make any sense, if you ask me…). So don't be surprised if things happen here that might have nothing to do with the inGame-Lore. I'm no Blizzard-Employee and I have a lot of gaps ^^°

Anyway, R&R please and I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter11<strong>

"A few words about how we will proceed from here, as soon as we go through that door."

They had reached the end of the tunnel. It was still dark down here except for the occasional torch at the wall. Phin had so far lost all sense of time. Were they down here for an hour, a day… or maybe a century? Her wolfs words were almost booming in this quiet place, regardless that he had whispered in a low voice.

"This door is secured by mechanical as well as by magical wards – if you check for yourself you might sense them," he went on equally low. "As soon as we go through, the guards will be alerted and that is the moment we need to hurry the hell up." He paused a moment. "So we have to move quickly, to get away from this area as fast as possible. We will then head for the channels, the waters are very chilly during this time of the year but they will cover our tracks. Even a worgen tracker will have his trouble following us through them.

"From the channels our next goal will be Merchants Square. You can take some samples there and we make a run for it out of here once it has calmed down enough. Any questions?"

She blinked. _'Any questions?', my ass!_

Phin didn't know if she should yell at the top her lungs and throw fireballs at him or… if she should be glad. After these last days of troubled thoughts, he finally shared his thoughts – even if they were no encouraging ones… "And you couldn't have told me this… a bit earlier?" she asked. "I mean" – she raked her hair in distress, trying to keep her mind up – "it not that a complicated plan, now is it?"

"No, it's not," he agreed calmly. "The catch is we can't go back the same way; as soon as we go through the place will be swarming with worgen and we can count on it that it will be very complicated to explain why we used this passage to sneak into the city. As for why I didn't tell you about this earlier… I could have, but it would not change anything about our current situation. They wouldn't bother me since I'm their pack brother, but I'm afraid they wouldn't just let a high elf through. I don't think my influence extents that far."

She felt her heart skipping beats – that was… well, that didn't sound too bad, now did it? – Adamantly, she tried to keep her breathing even. He had shared his plan and the danger ahead; that was good. However… what about… "And then?" she asked timidly. "What happens then?" _Don't leave, don't leave…_

He sighted. For a moment there, all slyness and cleverness fell off from him, leaving him just as uncertain as she was. He had his doubts, his fears… and cluelessness. "I haven't figured that out, yet," he finally admitted. "We can be lucky and slip between their ranks… Or it can be ugly. By now, we are counting on your disguise as a high elf… but it's possible that the guards recognize you as what you really are – and then we are in real trouble… Of course, if we stay undetected we don't have to trouble ourselves; unfortunately luck is rare these days so we should expect the worst…"

"And," she started hesitantly, unsure if she wanted to know his answer. "And what could be… the worst scenario?"

Taking a deep breath, he said, "The worst of it could be, that we don't succeed in leaving this part of the city and that we need to explain to the guards why we used a path that is forbidden to use except in a case of emergency. If they catch us while trying to get away, we have a lot to explain. As for you, the mages among the guards will surely recognize you as a blood elf as soon as they take you in any closer; you would be killed right on the spot… I'm in no state to fend off a pack of bloodthirsty worgen, at least not with these weapons and my shoulder… I couldn't prevent you from being harmed, or even killed."

Her throat became dry; she couldn't even swallow anymore. So if everything went well, she would be at least able to enter the city and gather some samples, but except from that… "Let us assume that we will be able to get away from here without being detected… what will we do then?"

He cocked his head. Apparently, he had expected his easy to upset elf would react differently… It made her already feel a bit proud of herself… if she wouldn't shiver in fright this very moment despite her resolve. "Then we will get to Merchants Square as I said before. It's no strategically important part of the city, so it's not as highly guarded as Greymane Court where we are right now. I hope we will have enough time for you to take a few samples. You have to hurry though; search troops will be all over the city within minutes. We could hide with your wards for the moment, but after that… Even without the hellhole, we're going to break lose I don't think it'll be easy to get you out of here safely…"

She couldn't breathe… Her heart was beating in frenzy and her everything was aching… _Come on, Phin_, she thought stressfully, _this is good news_. Breathing hard she forced her heart to calm down again. _Just a bit luck… We only need… Great Sun, we need all the blessing existent in this world!_

"Will you stay with me?" she finally whispered. Somehow, the horrors, which could await them only mere minutes ahead, didn't scare her as much as the thought that he could leave her alone at some point…

Slowly, as if he was afraid she would back away his clawed hands cupped her face. "I promise I won't leave your side. And I will get you out of this city."

* * *

><p>"Stay close, don't look back."<p>

Those were his last words before he slammed the door. Phin could hear a faint shriek from the broken wards, which had guarded this door. Than her wolf pulled her roughly behind him and she knew nothing else.

_Run, Phin, run! RUN! Run like never before in your life!_

Her bag clutched against her chest she ran after her wolf, passing the dark houses of Greymane Court. Once the wealthy quarter of the city, it was now deserted and depraved. Like most of the city. During her journey, she had been intimidated by those gloomy buildings, but now that she tried to keep up with her wolf, her lungs aching already, she had lost all sense for her surroundings. There was only the broad back of her wolf, her legs with her feet, and her thundering heart as she ran, and ran… and ran.

A tiny part in her head scolded her for wearing these heavy traveling robes, but then again… _Run!_

Occasionally her wolf would look back to see if she was still at his tail – she didn't register his approving glance. He let her through alleyways and narrow gaps between high build houses. Even if it was a bright day by gilnean standards, wedged between the houses there was nothing like day or night. Here it was constantly dim and crowded.

Suddenly the valley of houses opened up. Before she could think though, she was grabbed by the arm and hoisted forward. Biting cold and darkness swallowed her. _Water!_ It was the only thing she could register before unyielding hands grabbed her tightly, pulling her deeper.

_Air!_ She needed air! She had to breathe! – Deeper and deeper it went. She trashed against those invisible hands, which still held her captive to drown her in this lightless waters…

_Don't panic, Phin. Swim, swim for your life!_

Icy daggers stabbed her chest. Giant hands clenched her torso, pressing out all remaining air in her lungs. Her robes clung to her frame, fighting her every move. She didn't know where to find top or bottom; she only felt that she was dragged. That it became colder. That her arms and legs became heavier.

_So I'm drowning? Well, that's not so bad… I guess… Being ripped to pieces by angry worgen… that's worse… I think…_

Then everything broke. Light flooded her eyes as the liquid nothingness gave her free at last. Where was the sky? And the sun… where did the sun go? Where was the ground… oh, there it was, she was on the ground. And she was pulled by… who was the shadowy figure? There were shadows everywhere. Why did everything move…? Or was it her who moved around?

Reflexively she coughed, yearning for some air into her lungs. Eyes unfocused she saw the ground slink away as hard hands grabbed her around her waist. Head down she poured out a large amount of water, she had swallowed during her involuntarily dive. Her bag, where was her bag – oh, there it was, only one step next to her.

She didn't feel her body. She only felt the biting cold and before she noticed it, she was shivering violently.

Hands again. Slowly her senses came back to her as the ground shifted under her… She tried to get up but neither her arms nor legs would abide her mental commands. Or was it her robes, which clung to her body like a second skin. A too big skin, clinging against her, disabling her to do even the simplest movements… And cold. Hell, never in her life had she ever been this cold!

And what was happening around her? She could hear her soggy robes as they slithered over rough ground. It was dark around her, or was it just her imagination since black spots danced before her eyes, no matter how much she blinked to get them away. The ground shifted under her, she heart some constant clattering in her ears. Then that shadowy figure, which held her in a bruising grip, hoisted her around like a heavy wet sack.

_Stay awake, girl, don't pass out! Don't you bloody pass out!_

Suddenly she was pressed against something… between something. Was it wood or stone? It could be the wall of a house on one side… but in her back, there was something warm. Unconsciously she pressed back against it, wanting more of the warmth seeping into her frozen body.

It was dark around her but the moment she looked up, she saw… shadows. Shadows leaping over her from one house to the other.

Slowly her senses came back. _The guards_, she thought terrified. _Those are the guards of the city!_ – She wanted to say something but her squeal was muffled by a large hand, which immediately covered her parting lips, stifling every sound.

The last minutes dawned. Yes, her wolf had told her that they had to swim… yes, he had said it… That the guards of the city would be alarmed as soon as the door out of the passage was opened. And by the look of it, they indeed were alarmed. Sandwiched into a dark corner, her wolf shielding her soaked form, she could make out the figures of worgen defenders heading for Greymane Court. They were not using the alleys of the city but jumping lithely from one roof to the other while oblivious that they just sprinted over the heads of the very persons they were supposed to look for.

Her teeth clattered. Oh, that was that strange sound she heart earlier… Her body trembled in angst and cold alike when a piece of cloth was roughly stuffed between her lips. Her first reaction was panic but she fought it. _Make no sound, make no sound, no sound…_ Biting down on the cloth wedged between her teeth she felt her wolfs arms circling around her, as he tried to give her as much warmth as he could. She didn't dare to use any magic here. Other mages in the area would sense it; the risks were simply too high…

She didn't know how long she stood pressed between the wall and her wolf but after what seemed hours in which her heart pounded viciously against her frozen ribs, she felt her wolf retreating from her. She almost slinked to the ground before her caught her form, gathering her up into her still wet cloak and hurried closely pressed against the houses along another alleyway.

The cold was still crawling into her body, biting her as she clasped both hands over her mouth to keep herself silent. Her wolf was just as wet as she was but he seemed to be unbothered by the cold.

Along an alley, more a deep valley between these houses, around a corner, than left around another corner… Again, he pressed her into a crook between two houses while shadowy figures leaped over their heads. Then again around a corner, another one… then a 'click'-sound and she was pushed through a door. He wanted to hide? But didn't he say that they couldn't stay at one place now that the city was full with worgen searching for them?

Her wolf didn't say anything. He pushed her forward to the back, down some stairs. A cellar again.

The room, which opened before her, made her gasp despite her cloth-gag. An open fire burned in a hearth, it illuminated the walls around them. Those walls were hanged by countless weapons. Swords, daggers, musketry, guns, in a corner stood a small canon, small enough to be carried by two strong men. Polearms standing in a corner, next to it bundles with arrows and little sacks containing bullets. Crossbows hanging on the opposite wall, followed by axes in all sizes. – Swallowing she took the room in. He let her into an armory?

Unsure she looked over her shoulder to her wolf. He didn't regard her further, just pushing her into the room to the open fire. Removing her gag, she squealed in protest as he started to disrobe her. If she wasn't as cold and clammy as she was, her resistance might have been fruitful but now she could only writher in his hands as he pulled off one layer after the other of her clothing.

"Quit it," he grumbled finally. "If you don't come out of that stuff you won't make it long outside…" She did understand his point but it was rather hard to think when your brain was still frozen in ice. She whimpered helplessly as he tore at her undergarment, tearing it to pieces and finally off her wet body. She didn't have time though to worry about her nudeness when her wolf wound a rough blanket around her, pulling her into a bone-crushing embrace while stroking her shivering body.

They stood like that some time – in any other place she would feel drawn to him, his body, she would feel her own heat rising and know, that he felt the same way. Now her breathing became calmer as she leaned into him, welcoming his warm body even if he was just as wet as she was… Lucky him, that he didn't mind the cold as she did. Slowly she felt some sense of touch return into her shaking limbs, blood rushing through her body as her heart was pumping more steadily.

"What are we doing to do now?" she whispered. She hated it to be unable to take some action herself, to be a burden. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that this place was as dangerous for her as Icecrown or Netherstorm – possibly even more so. In all her previous travels and adventures, she knew what she was up to. This city was another dimension. A crowded place with barely a place to hide, she was surrounded by enemies with sharp senses who could track her down everywhere. And she had no chance to just teleport to safety since it was still a warzone. Even the minor use of magic for example to dry and warm herself up, would be an unwise move since other mages could sense it…

Clasping her eyes shut she suppressed a sob. Why did she come here anyway? Why did she come here alone?

_But I'm not alone_ _now_, she thought, shyly looking up. Yes, her wolf was with her. He took care of her and protected her. As much as she loved the feeling to be looked after and cared for, her pride still fought her affection for him. She was strong, she was powerful, she had seen places and fought creatures he hadn't even heard of. And now she stood here in his arms, a shivering little elf shaking in cold and angst. But he was here, warming her. She had not asked for his help, yet he gave it. Might he… feel for her as she did for him? – She still didn't dare to consider that.

Staying silent for a while her wolf hadn't answered yet, his brow deeply frowned as he tried to solve out their next moves. He looked around the room, his eyes focusing on the daggers before trailing off again.

Suddenly pushing her down on the ground, he said, "Stay here, elf. I'll be back soon." He rushed off and up the stair again.

"When is soon?" she asked blatantly into the empty room.

* * *

><p>Shivering in the heavy blanket, she crept closer to the fireplace. Now without the body heat of her wolf she was left in the cool air. Stuffing the blanket around her body, the fire in her back, she thought about taking one of the daggers hanging on the wall, just in case… But inwardly she shook her head. If a group of worgen would come down here, she would be just as easy a prey as she would be without that thing…<p>

She looked at the soaked pile of robes lying on the ground. In his attempt to get her out of them as fast as possible, he had torn some of the clothes, breaking the breaches… She should mend them; after all, she had a little tailoring set in her bag. But they had to dry first and that would take some time since the use of magic was out the question.

Magic… Never before could she have imagined her profession would be as crippling as it turned out to be now. Any ranger would cope better in this that she did. It had been her ranger-skills, taught to her by her parents when she was a child before she chose to become a mage, which had saved her many times in the gilnean countryside.

Here in the middle of the capital, things were even more difficult. Not only warriors and archers protected the city, also mages were among them. Mages were trained to be sensitive for the ley line currents, they were vital for the use of any kind of arcane art. Any changes could be sensed by a thoroughly trained mage, and here it would alert them. By now, her best chance of survival was to keep her head low like a baby rabbit hiding in a field.

Slowly the shivering of her limbs eased. Huddled in her blanket she got up shakily, walking along the walls, observing the weapons displayed there. Only looking at them made her stomach heavy; her mind pictured these weapons as they were used upon her…

Except her hair, she was dry again, and even though her feet were cold, she felt too restless to sit before the fire. To ease the cold she hopped on the spot, feeling the rough stone floor under her bare feed, shrugging her shoulders just to get some nimbleness back into her stiff body.

A muffled thud.

Whirling around, she relaxed again as she saw her wolf. Luckily, she knew him so well; she almost hadn't recognized him. He had shed his own soaked armor and replaced it with another one. New daggers hung at both sides from his girdle, and she didn't have any doubts that he had several more blades hidden between the layers of his new armor. In his hand, he held her own belt with the dagger she had lent him, and a little bundle of cloth.

Striding over to her, he only commanded, "Come here," before he pulled away the blanket. A little worried she crossed her arms around her, not only from a sudden shyness but also from the cold – and a feeling of awkwardness to see him as brisk and determined as he was now. "Lift your arms." Before she knew it, a white shirt was pulled over her dark head. "Haste yourself, elf, we have to move on," he snarled while passing her the next piece of cloth. Turning it around she looked uncertainly over to him, she had no idea how one had to wear this thing…

"I… don't know how to…" she started before he took the cloth from her shaking hands. After he attached the thing to her, she realized it was some kind of undergarment, which included a bodice and a matching skirt. The bodice was made of hard stiff material and she almost chocked when her wolf tightly bound the cords of the lace fastening in her back. Did gilnean women wear this? No wonder they always looked so grumpy! With this thing tied around her body all day she would be in a bad mood, too…

The next piece was a long robe, which had to be similarly laced as the bodice, except the ties were in front and both sides – how complicated! Phin felt like a dress-up doll as her wolf turned her that way and then another while pulling and pushing the cloth. How did he even know how to dress a woman with this stuff? – The last piece was some kind of a mantle made of leather with golden rims; the lining on the inside was some warming cloth. It had buttons in front to close it and a high stiff collar. Finally finished her wolf stepped back.

He grinned suddenly. "Now we only have to cut off your ears and you would pass as a normal gilnean lady," he said smugly.

Squealing her hands shoot up, clasping protectively over her elongated ears. "You don't –" she started before her pulled in a crushing hug, chuckling into her ears.

"No worries, little elf," he said, still chuckling. "You keep your ears; they are perfect to chew upon," he added smugly.

She grumbled. "Yeah, so I observed…" But she was warm again after that chilly water. As uncomfortable the robes were, they kept her pleasantly comfy and she was positive that they wouldn't be so itchy after some wearing (well, that's what she hoped for at least).

Passing her a pair of boots she had to sit down to put them on, the stiff bodice almost chocking off her breath, fighting her every move. "How can your females even move in this fashion?" she asked frowning while fumbling with the boot lacings. "Really, you guys need some education in how to tailor comfortable clothing." Grunting she cursed while busying herself with the other boot – did they have heels? How was she supposed to _run_ in those?

Her wolf chuckled, helping her up again. "I think we can talk that through another time… _if_ we get out of here that is."

_Oh yes_, she had almost forgot… for a shred of a moment, she had forgotten about her stupid suicide mission and the fact that she was trapped in a hostile city…

Taking the black cloak he passed her, she threw it around her shoulders, clasping the closing under her chin. Too late, she saw him throwing her soaked robes into the fire.

"What are you doing?" she cried, before shutting her mouth again. "Those were mine," she added with an outraged whisper.

"You have more than these," he said unmoving, taking up her bag, which was still dry thanks to the enchantments.

"You do realize I could have just taken some of my own robes, right?" she asked irritated.

He sighted and shook his head. "No, you couldn't," he answered as if he was talking to an insubordinate child. "Your own robes have a smell on them every worgen would connect with the enemy. The new ones cover up your scent and we can at least be sure that no worgen defender will recognize you as a blood elf… _if_ we are lucky."

He passed her the bag. "And now we have to go. The guards will swarm all over the city by now. You have to gather your samples and on the way we have to get you out of here – or find you a safe place to hide until things have calmed down."

Taking a deep breath, she gave a stern nod. "All right then."

* * *

><p>She discovered that her new clothes were not as unfeasible and crowding as she thought first. The mantle had two deep pockets and while sneaking after her wolf, she would every now and kneel down smoothly and take up some leafs and patches, stuffing them into the pockets. Her normal robes didn't have pockets… what would be the reason than to carry unwieldy bags along?<p>

Her wolf had noticed her little gatherings and nodded in understanding. Already he seem to busy his brain with the question of how to get her out of the metropolis. Since they left the armory they hadn't met any guards, but Phin could hear some distant howling. The orcs said, that their wolfs communicated via howls, little differences and chips in it could alter the message. Obviously, the worgen, too, used howling as some handy kind of communication… like horn-signals, except that they were much more difficult to copy and to decipher…

Whenever there was some howling her wolfs ears would poke into the direction of the sound, listening intently. She would love to know, what kind of messages he snapped up but she bit her lip. Beside the fact, that these things were not to be known by her, a blood elf, it was also unwise to get distracted here.

They still kept themselves as close to the houses as possible, preferring the narrow alleys and stayed as far away as possible from the grand plazas of Merchants Square. However, these alleys held their own dangers: countless little traps. They wouldn't harm her, but like the warts at the passage door, they would alert the guards and lead them strait here. Her wolf warned her whenever there were those traps on their way, so she carefully stepped over them or he just lifted her up to carry her some steps before lowering her again. Obviously, there was some reason why the worgen defenders preferred to walk and jump from on roof to the next: with traps in the alleys between the narrowly placed houses, it was impossible to move fast from of part of the city to another. And even if an enemy scout would make it undetected into the city, by walking the alleys, oblivious to these traps, he would activate one of them and would be done for.

A nicely figured out strategy of the defenders, Phin mused and swallowed hard. If she would have gone into the capital all by herself… _Even if I would have managed to get in unseen, as soon as I would go for gathering the samples, I would walk right into one of those traps… and then I'd be finished!_ – She could fight, yes, she could kill countless defenders and overpower their mages, but she was not invincible. She would tire after a while and then nothing on Azeroth would safe her from the worgens wrath…

Her worgens broad back was only half a pace before her as she began to realize that whatever reason he had to stay with her, he knew fairly well that if he would get caught in the process his own people wouldn't easily forgive him… He mentioned that he had quite some influence over his people, maybe even a high-ranking position. Would that be enough to save him? Enough to save her in case they would get caught?

She would have debated about that further but the moment she kneeled down, to take up another sample, a little damp pebble, the world turned into turmoil.

An explosion tore through the city, the sound made her cry in pain for her sensitive ears. Her wolf, too, tumbled of the sudden detonation. The ground under their very feet shook heavily; little boulders fell from the roofs onto the two companions. Phin was grabbed by her wolf as he shielded her with his massive body. Cracking sounds came from the shaking houses surrounding them.

More explosions tore through the city, the ground shook more intensive under the assault. Out of instinct or fear, she didn't know: the moment she saw the walls around them collapse down on them, she reached for the arcane currents. The moment a large boulder fell down onto them, a shield spread over their crouched entangled bodies.

* * *

><p>I guess it's getting… funny next chapter ;)<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Since the Battle of Gilneas City at the beginning of the war, which resulted in the death of Prince Liam, the enemy had not again attacked the heart of gilnean resistance. Since the 7th Legion joined the Gilneas Liberation Front, the capital of the peninsula hasn't been assaulted by Forsaken. The attackers main forces were mostly held in the north close to the wall, the southern parts were mostly untouched by any battles and skirmishes. Even though Blackwald with its sacred tree Tal'doren would be a lucrative target, the Undercity had no interest in the location, especially since the Alliance held a rather tight grip on the coastlines. Why take the risks and attack there if the object of desire, ore and wood for the Horde war-machine, was located in the north?

* * *

><p>It was dark around her, boulders and wall and roof fragments were littered around them. Phin felt their weight pressing down on her shield, but she didn't lessen her efforts to keep it up; already she felt beads of sweat form on her head. Her wolf, who still covered her with his body, looked down at her in surprise. She had shared with him the disadvantages of magic…<p>

Meeting his gaze, she gave him a weak smile. "I guess we don't have to hide anymore," she said shakily.

He frowned but nodded; he knew full well that these boulders most likely would have crushed him… "I think the quakes have ended," he said. "You can lift off the shield."

She nodded. While the shield faded, her wolf stemmed himself against the rocks, pushing them aside. It was their luck that they didn't have to dig their way out of the load. With a last expanding of her shield, the boulders were pushed aside and they climbed over the loose rocks into the open. While more blasts were heard in the distance, they made their way over stones and boulders littering the alleyway. Thanks to the general dampness of the local climate there wasn't much dust in the air to get caught in their throats, yet both elf and worgen coughed in earnest while finding their way to relative safety… or at least a place save from being crushed by crumbling houses.

The moment though, they would step into an open plaza of Merchants Square, Phin froze in place and backed away against the next wall.

"What are you waiting for?" her wolf asked irritated, he was already standing in the open space, not bothering of being seen by anyone. And why should he? He was a fellow worgen anyway… As even more explosions tore through the air, he span around, his golden eyes became wide. "What in the name of ol' Genns _pants_…?" he whispered bewildered.

Swallowing she asked, "So this is not… This is not some kind of a trap…?" The moment they reached the plaza, she thought that the whole noise- and quake-thing, though huge, was nothing but a distraction to lure them into the open. By her wolfs reaction of… hell, he looked horrified! – Looking south, she made out high columns of smoke. Was that fire she thought to make out there? But that would mean…

Another explosion tore through the air.

Earth shaking violently, Phin flung herself forward away from the houses as the walls shook anew. Her wolf caught her, pulling the tiny elf with him. Walls, stones, and wood broke under the shocks while Phin held both hands over her ears. This was no security-trap set by the defenders. This was no mere accident with flammable material…

_The city is under attack!_

* * *

><p><em>The timing of the year!<em> The moment she wanted to sneak into a highly fortified capital, almost as well guarded as Stormwind City, the Forsaken decided to launch the attack of the year! This was either some _ridiculous_ trick of fade… or the luckiest day of her life! With the whole chaos roaming the city, it would be a child's play to get out of here! Mages from the Alliance and the Horde would cast themselves nuts to defend their own; one more mage, who would draw upon the ley lines wouldn't be noticed there…

Looking at her wolf, she swallowed hard. What ever happened over there, it was bad, really bad… If it wasn't for all the fur in his face, she was sure she would have seen him becoming a couple shades paler.

Her spirit dropped. _He's going to leave me_, she thought, already feeling panic rising in her stomach. _He'll join his comrades to push back the Forsaken! He'll leave me! He'll leave me alone forever!_

Of course, she knew that they would have to part soon. She had the samples with which she would have proof of the Banshee Queens wrongdoing. She would analyze them with her lab and then she would get the hell out of Gilneas! Being trapped in the gilnean capital had given her hope to stay close with her wolf a little while longer, to enjoy their last days… Now there was no reason anymore to stay. He would go join the battle. He would find himself a nice healer to restore his shoulder and then he would throw himself into the fray to liberate the city. His gear and weapons weren't any question either since he had organized a new ones, there would be no… there wasn't any hindrance anymore.

And since she would be alone again, all on her own as she used to be before they met, she would be smart, yes. She would take advantage of the chaos all over the area and make her escape. She could make her way north to the Greymane Wall, from there west to the mountains. There she would be close enough to the border to finally teleport herself to safety. She would be home! She would be honored by the warchief! She would have shown the other Horde members that blood elves where more than arrogant mages and paladins, that they were loyal to the Horde and worth their place…

Biting her lips, she hoped the physical pain could dilute some of the mental agony she was just living through. _To hell with it! I want… Stupid girl! It doesn't matter what you want… _She looked away from the smoke. Her mind screamed that she had to hurry. He would understand! He was a clever man; he would know why it was best if she would run now, he would know…

She felt first tears rising in her eyes. _I don't want to go!_

* * *

><p>The moment he turned to face her, her heart gave a clench of pain. He seemed torn, riven between his obvious desire to side with his pack-brothers and -sisters to drive back the invaders, and on the other hand… there was she. Blinking a little voice in her mind whispered in wonder: <em>He doesn't want to leave me either.<em>

Turning back to the rising smoke clouds, he kept his silence. She could almost hear the gears rattling in his brain, eager to come to any conclusion to fulfill both desires. As much as she tried, she couldn't think of anything to make his decision easier… Maybe if she would set up a sanctuary here and he would come for her afterwards?

But then she had to teach him, how to divert the protective charm… Great Sun, it would take hours, it would take years to teach him! And he wasn't even a mage at all! – Phin felt her lip tremble, the lump in her throat becoming harder.

He was upon her faster than she could blink. Both hands clamped around her upper-arms his grip was hard like iron; gasping in surprise she whimpered from sudden pain. He stared down at her with that ferocity she had seen on him whenever he was angry or upset. To be looked at with that glare made her almost shake with fright. It scared her do death!

"Leave!" he snarled, baring the lupine daggers in his long mouth. "Leave the city now! The guards are distracted; by what, I don't know but it gives you enough time to leave." He was speaking fast, staring down at her intently as if he was searching her face for any signs of how she would react to his words. – She found it rather confusion: he told her to go away, but his clutching paws around her arms made it impossible for her to move anywhere – in addition, she didn't have any desire to do so…

"From Merchants Square is a bridge, it leads to the eastern coast of Gilneas," he continued hard breathing. "Follow the trail and you will come across a little cottage. Go there! Secure it with your wards and wait there. Don't leave the house, you hear me?" – He shook her hard enough that her curls fell into her face. – "I will come and seek you out!"

With that, he pulled her in an embrace that almost made her rips snap. Her arms pressed against her torso, she almost couldn't breathe. She heard his words, yet they didn't make any sense…

His snout buried in her dark mane he inhaled her scent. Did he shiver? But he couldn't feel cold, now could he… not with that body heat. Her head swam, she couldn't think. What did he say? …

"Wait for me, my elf," he murmured. "Five days. Five days to settle things… and I will be back with you. I promise."

She didn't stir when his arms finally gave her free. Despite his injuries and the deep wound on his shoulder, he moved his bulk with swiftness she had never thought possible. Like a black phantom, he disappeared between the houses, a few moments later she saw the tall silhouette of a worgen, sprinting to where the battle took place, and then out of sight.

She was alone.

* * *

><p>"I… need to go… east… Yes… East…"<p>

Phin stood petrified in place. A little breeze swept through the narrow alleys of Gilneas City, swirling up some leafs and petals. It was springtime now. It would be warmer soon; on her journey, she had already seen the trees with the first signs of blooming life. Though these lands were cursed, that curse could not deter the beginning of a flowering new year. The slight breeze, grazing through her tangled locks, was just a first herald.

Her breath was ragged; her lungs seemed to have forgotten of how to draw air. The figure of her wolf was long gone as her stiff fingers curled and relaxed, as if they tried to draw him back to her, to hold him, to make him stay with her… to not leave her to her own fate back home… back home where loneliness would await her. What should she even do in Orgrimmar or Silvermoon? Bury herself in her tomes of ancient spells and herbs? Create new potions? Invent more effective charms? Debating with the other Arcanists? Visiting Andros once again?

What had been desirable only a few weeks ago, what she hoped to go back to as soon as her mission would be fulfilled… it all seemed so dull, so hollow. What was there to go back to?

"I have to go…"

As if straining against invisible bonds her legs reanimated themselves, reluctantly obeying the mental command.

"The cottage… yes, the cottage. I have to find it… and… everything… everything will be alright… Exactly!"

One step, and another step… then a third and a forth. Slowly her feet made one pace after the other, slowly carrying her away from the battle fought in her back. She had to hurry. Who knew how long the battle would continue. She didn't know how to avoid the little traps in the alleyways so she had better make haste before someone would come to check them.

With that, her body snapped back to life. Hustling up he dresses, she grabbed her bag and ran. What did he say? Take the bridge, which leads directly out of Merchants Square. Nicely said, but where to find that bridge? He had missed to tell her which direction it would be found…

Lifting her eyes up to the roofs, she smirked. She was no worgen, but she was a blood elf and a ranger's daughter born in the trees. Climbing a house like these shouldn't be much a challenge for her. At least that would be the case if she would have some more flexible clothes on…

She was just standing on a barrel, hiking up her robes, to climb up a rain-pipe…

_Wait – a – second_, she thought. Frowning she gazed over her shoulder to the high erupting smoke clouds. _This is so not Forsaken-style!_ Jumping off the barrel the frown on her forehead deepened. _Forsaken are supple in their methods, cunning. This sensational attack with explosives and smoke… that's much more in the style of goblins and orcs, maybe trolls, too… not Forsaken!_

Sylvanas was much too concerned lately about her subjects. She wanted her people to hold up the pride they had in life to achieve their goals – and do their jobs it properly. Operations were to be fulfilled efficiently and fast. Explosives, no matter how much goblins would promote them, was not the way of the Forsaken. Too messy and unpredictable.

Then why these large scale attack? From the _south_ no less. From what she knew, the south was the most dangerous place for Horde members to be, full of traps and invisible ambushers. How did they even get the material down there? Not to mention soldiers. How did they organize it? … Unless –

Her eyes went wide. _That's no attack! It's a diversion!_

Running back into the plaza she whirled around, staring up against the dark gloomy roofs of the city. What could be the real target then? No individuals, she was sure. The king resided as refugee and advisor in Stormwind, his wife and daughter lived in Darnassus since the evacuation of Gilneas. And as far as she knew from information gathered from Forsaken troopers and other soldiers who had been stationed here in the area before her mission, there were no notable leaders or other nobles residing here – and understandably so, since a permanent residence in the capital would make them easy target for the Horde…

_Oh Great Sun, enlighten me – why is it always so cloudy here…_ she thought. When had been the last time she had really seen the sun? And then her eyes got caught by a towering shadow.

_The cathedral? Why the hell attacking a cathedral? Sylvanas, you can do better than that…_ Still, for all humans, the symbols of the Holy Light were honored beyond all others. And as human in their cores the worgen of Gilneas were no different from this worth shipping… Yet, why attack it? Even within the Forsaken ranks, many devotees of the Holy Light were to be found and Sylvanas would always encourage them in this…

Resolved again, Phin gathered up her robes, grabbing her bag tightly and ran – this time not in the direction of the bridge (or where she thought it could be located) but back to the center of the city. The channels surrounding the city also divided the single districts so there must be some bridges between them.

Climbing onto a water barrel, she succeeded in scrambling on the roof of the first house on her way. It was slippery on the roof, and her strange boots, which almost tormented her feet, were quite obviously not made for climbing. Biting her lip she crawled higher, if she would reach the top of the roof, she might be able to see more of the city and its structure…

She didn't see much – but she found the bridge, which would lead to the quarter before the church! Hiking down again she performed her hoover-spell on herself and glided weightless onto the ground. There again, an explosion! She had to hurry! For what she had to hurry, she didn't know. But it pestered her to simply find out what was going on, even if common sense cried that this was the worse idea she ever had.

Running as fast as she could she made her way through various alleys, not stopping whenever she got caught by a snare of a warning-trap. What did she care about the defenders now? If they were smart, they might have figured out that all the setup-attack with smoke and fire and so on was just a trick to lure them away from the real target… That was of course, if she was right with her assumption. Oh, she hoped she was not…

Finally reaching the bridge, she came to a halt. But if she was correct about this, than she should brace herself. Climbing onto the next roof, she sent a small blessing to her parent's souls. If it weren't for them, she would have never developed this skill… _I should have stayed a ranger_, she grumbled inwardly. _As a ranger, I wouldn't be such a sissy! _She rubbed her ankle after she had slipped side-wards. At least her new clothes were sturdier than she thought at first… But then again, did she expect to climb around on roofs like a worgen?

There! Voices! _I knew it!_

She had already jumped over several alleyways, from one roof to the next, performing her hoover-spell every time again to prevent falling from the house – some of them had about four of five stories. Well, the Gilneans sure knew how to build complicated houses… But then again, she never tried to jump over houses and roofs back in Silvermoon…

Finally the cathedral in full sight she cowered low on the roofs, listening to every sound around her. She could still hear the faint noises of battle in the southern part of the city, beside of that, it was dead silent. Until she heart these voices.

Creeping closer over the last roof, she looked down onto a vast plaza. There had been a huge fight here recently. She knew from the troopers that during the first battle over Gilneas and the following battles and skirmishes great parts of this grand place had been scattered. Yet she could still see the former grandeur and beauty of the place. Patches of grass geometrically organized between low walls, and broad alleyways between them. Fruit trees stood in a row, leafless now and somewhat sorrow. Yet, this surely was a place to go on a holiday in summer…

_And surely a worthwhile target to destroy the enemy spirit_, she thought grimly while staring down at countless Forsaken scrambling over the plaza, busy like ants. What where they doing down there…?

"What a pretty elf do we have here?"

She heard the sneering voice next to her ear and a cold breath in her neck. Sharp pain struck her head and sudden darkness surrounded her mind before she could turn and see the smirking scout looming over her.

"A very pretty elf-girl," the female Forsaken stated before throwing the unconscious elf over her shoulder, mindful of not losing the bag. "Pity she isn't blessed with any luck…"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter13**

The war in Gilneas was somehow stuck. The defenders would cheer about that and the Horde would sit sullen and grumpy over their pints of ale in the inn, complaining about the generals and their wives at home. The Horde, though sulkily only interested in a small patch of the peninsula, was fighting against a foe without the usual weaknesses. All fighters were passionate and willing to die if it served the cause, and they had the comfort of knowing that their family was either fighting alongside with them or save in a far-away land – out of reach for the undead fiends of the Undercity and their brutish Horde allies…

So how to fight against a foe without any trump in your own hand, except a lot of tricks, big bombs and manpower? – If you cannot kill head and heart of the resistance, then a symbol would do, too. The bigger the better…

* * *

><p>Since Duke Wallace had been slain, things in the south had gotten more than just messy. Commander Blackthorn buried his face in his hands, a short moment of admission to his exhaustion. Since his friend had disappeared, murdered or worse by the Forsaken, they had lost their eyes in the south. Nobody knew the region better than he had , and even with minor forces had he been able to keep the area mostly free from any Horde intruders…<p>

Blackthorn still could not grasp it. Somehow, he never thought to bring up a backup plan for securing the south in case anything as bad as this would happen. Wallace himself either. Why changing something that had perfectly worked for more than two years after beginning of the war?

And now they had a worst case: mere two weeks after the Dukes fall the city was under attack – from the south. Coughing Blackthorn made his way through the surrounding chaos. Cries and angry snarls everywhere. The moment the alarm rose that the secret passage had been unauthorized used, he and all the cities defenders had rushed to the spot in Greymane Court.

It had been a rush out of fear. Blackthorn, who was charged with the cities defense, had a large blind side in the south, even though he tried to make up with sending new forces. And now those damned fiends had managed to break into the city via the secret passage? All these last days he had hoped his friend had died, it would be merciful for his and all their sake concerning the alternatives. But now it seemed, they were able to capture him alive!

What cruelties and horrors he had been through to tell them such vital information, Blackthorn didn't know. However, even if only half of the nightmarish stories about the Undercity were true, than even a man like Gharion Wallace would eventually resign, just to be granted by death…

The smoke was biting his eyes and nose; he was barely able to sense anything. The first sword, swinging down on him, was deflected in the last moment before he finally saw one of the attackers.

The Deathguard was as stoic as they usually were, working precise and fast as they were used to do. Yet he was wearing some kind of a mask, Blackthorn had seen on their Plague-Sprayers. – Blackthorn howled an alarm to his comrades, hoping they would hear him over the chaos surrounding them. Warning them, that the smoke could be something more sinister then just diluting their senses – which was in itself bad enough. Worgen had very fine senses, their noses as sharp as that of a bloodhound, their eyes like that of an eagle. With their ears, they were able to hear a mouse squeak miles away…

But all these advantages were for naught now! The continuing explosions around them tingled in his ears, the thick smoke made his eyes swim and his nose burned with every breath.

Finally overpowering his opponent Blackthorn was relieved to see some of his own men coming closer. As a pack they were not as easily to defeat – at least that would be the case if they could see anything. The advantage of a pack was lost if you could not see or control your surroundings. In a cluster as they were, they were easy target for any archer. Good thing, that the Forsaken couldn't see anything as well…

Yet Blackthorn felt tense. This was no normal attack. In all his years fighting off the Scourge, partaking in the Civil War and then pushing back the Forsaken invaders he knew one thing for sure: this was… very strange… And therefore almost brilliant.

"Swarm out," he finally barked. "Stay in contact. Kill any invader you come across." For the moment that should do, he hoped while howls spread the order. Until today, the Forsaken had been rather predictable opponents. Yet again, using this smoke to befog the defenders senses… that was somehow indeed brilliant… Why did it still felt…

Commander Blackthorn pushed away his concerns as another Deathguard came for him, who was also wearing this strange mask. Maybe the undead were also affected by the smoke… Sending his comrades a warning, he made his own assault. Dislodging the mask could be an advantage…

* * *

><p>Phins head hurt as if a thousand needles were stabbing her skull – from the insides. She was surrounded by darkness, utter nothingness. She knew she had been knocked out, yet she could not tell by whom. The blackness still held her in an iron grip but sounds slowly emerged from around her. Buzzing sounds, like bees. Then slowly she realized it were steps, fast steps made in a hurry by countless people. And voices, ragged and rattling but there was one different from the others, a commanding voice. Stern and calm, sounding like a flowing river, and yet colder than ice. She knew that voice.<p>

_Come on, Phin! Don't be a sissy!_ She had to see, had to _know_ if she was right…

Her vision was diluted; she could only see patches of light and dark. And her head! Oh, she wished she could just drop asleep again. _No!_ She had to know what happened here. Something was terribly wrong.

She lifted her head, peering out under heavy lids. The simple movement was enough to shoot countless little bolts of pain through her body, which was tightly bound by cutting ropes, as she suddenly realized with her dazed brain. She closed her eyes again. Experimentally she tried to move her limbs, only to check if she still had them… All right, her hands were still there, her fingers, too. Her arms were twisted on her back, the ropes cutting so deep that she didn't feel them anymore but nothing seemed to be broken. Her legs? There, neatly nestled under her and just as tightly bound to her body, like a little package.

But something else was amiss…

There, that voice again! _To hell with your little aches and pains, Phin! You can do your bloody nap when you're _dead_!_

The figure with the smooth voice stood only a few paces away from her, his haggard body dressed in top-quality plate-armor as usual. His long dark hair was as full and thick as she remembered it, the skin without mildew or any open signs of decay on it. Yes, he was one of the few Forsaken she knew who actually groomed themselves, knowing full well that their body was the only thing that mattered in this world. That their rotting bulk was their ticked to stay in this world as well as that it was a constant reminder of their curse. However, he had always held up the opinion that he was a free man in the service of his queen and no mindless undead Scourge, so he made sure he wouldn't look too much like a flailing corpse.

He had never taken his fate to heart. He was a pragmatic man of duty and reason. Phin had always liked his attitude; though his gaunt face, he had… he still had a soul, he had spirit in these undead bones. He might have lost his passion but with his sharp quick mind and his calculating sense for necessity, he somehow made up for that.

In Northrend, she had first met him, a man determined to ensure survival of his kin as well as his allies. He was one of those men loyal to the gigantic construct called the Horde… He was always civil with his words and demeanor; never would he raise his voice, not even if he was displeased or angry. She had fought with him side by side against the Scourge; they had talked for hours long after midnight and sometimes she had fantasied about what could have happened if he would still be alive… Sharp-witted and always three steps ahead with his reasoning in any argument, purposely out-maneuvering his combatant she had developed a friendship with this man…

Thinking about this she couldn't be surprised anymore to have fallen years after Northrend for a man who was so alike him… so like…

"Horacio," she croaked.

The Forsaken High Executor turned around to face his captive. His unnaturally glowing eyes, proof of the eternal curse invested in his body, peered down at her tightly bound figure, taking in her disbelieving face. His expression changed and became… sad. Smiling joyless he came closer, kneeling before her.

"I was hoping you would not wake up," he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles – a strange gesture of closeness and familiarity, so entirely unfit for this circumstance. She did not flinch from his cold touch, she remembered: their fondness for each other had been mutual…

When he didn't continued, she forced more words out of her still dazzled brain. "What… are you doing here?" she finally managed, finding even more words to vocal her confusion. "And what is all this? … Why am I here?" She tried to strain against the tight bonds but to no avail. Groaning in pain as the rope bit deeper in her body she finally gave up her futile struggle. If only this annoying headache would stop… Where was she anyway? She was tied to something big made of smooth wood. And it was gloomy here, unlit candles along the walls with high windows. The lighting was strange, with multiple colors…

Still that sad expression his face, he answered patiently, "We are deposing explosives in Light's Dawn Cathedral." His tone was casual as ever, as if he would talk about today's executions or the color of his pen. Then he sighted deeply, cupping her chin in his chilly hand with the bony stubs. His expression was now one of mental agony. "I would have never thought that he would send an elf… _you_…" he murmured more to himself then her, shaking his head.

Releasing her face, he stood up again turning to give more instructions to the other busy Forsaken. Now that her vision was mostly clear again, alternating between focusing and blurring, Phin recognized them to be overly newborn Forsaken. Their bodies were still grossly intact, almost no missing pieces, just a bit more rugged up than normal living humans. The majority of these Newborns had bowed to the Banshee Queen out of the simple lack of other options. They were undead, monsters in the eyes of most people, notably the Alliance. Yet the Horde in majority didn't saw them much differently, especially since Garrosh became warchief, no matter that they were allies. Only the Undercity offered them a place of acceptance, a place to call home after their involuntarily resurrection.

They were carrying barrels into the back of the pulpit behind her, pilling them up high with calm precision. From what she could see, the raw number of explosives seemed to be enough to blow up the whole city!

"What do you mean by that?" she asked insistent.

After a few more instructions, the High Executor turned back at his elven prisoner. "Garrosh," he simply said. When she looked at him clueless, he sighted deeply once again. "Hellscream had been sending investigators into Gilneas without the Dark Ladies knowledge to spy upon us. By picking them up and interrogating them we found out that the warchief is suspicious about our methods here and wants an excuse to isolate us more then we already are." He shrugged. "So we kept our eyes open for newcomers especially from Orgrimmar. Sometimes we discarded them already in Silverpine or in our Forward-Outpost in the north, a couple of times our scouts and patrols found them scrambling around in the highlands. Since Garrosh did not move against us yet, it seems obvious that none of his investigators made it back to him. Those not caught by us were probably killed by worgen… Only you it seems slipped both of us."

Phin felt a lump in her throat. That was… unexpected news.

Looking down at her thoughtfully, the High Executor went on, "The first of them where orcs, Kor'kron guards escorting single alchemists or potionmasters. Then Garrosh send them in alone, orcs, tauren… then trolls… I really wonder how you did it, Sera. I never thought you to be the blood elf for this kind of a mission."

She stared at him, not listening to his statement. This wasn't true, was it? It just couldn't be true that Hellscream had sent off others before her… sent them off into a suicidal mission into certain death or failure. Was this the plan all along? Her failure? But she was good, she had done well so far! She wasn't caught by either party, she succeeded in finding out the truth of the Plague, she had evidence of it in her very pocket! True, she had essential help from her wolf…

It struck her. Where was he? Was he still alive? Did the diversion-forces managed to kill him? After all, he was still crippled by his injuries… No, he would be all right, he had to be! Oh, why didn't she just go for that stupid bridge and get herself to safety?

All this couldn't be true, this just wasn't true! This… just couldn't end like this!

Thrashing again mindlessly, she cried, "_Untie me_! For the grace of the Highborn, Horacio, _please_!"

Some Forsaken, who had so far ignored the tiny captive, looked curious over to her and their commander, than shrugged and continued their labor. "I cannot do that," Horacio said in his calm unhurried voice. This voice had always soothed her excitable nerves, but now it sent her right into terror.

"Why not?" she asked.

"The Dark Lady wants your death."

She startled. Staring uncertain, she shook her head. "Why… why would she want me dead?" she finally asked tiny voiced. "I have never done anything to offend her…"

"You demonstrated your loyalty to Garrosh when you accepted that mission," Horacio explained calmly. "The Dark Lady is very angry that one her former kin betrayed her in such a manner."

Realization dawned in her dazed mind; she snorted. "Sylvanas does not accept divided loyalty," she spat, staring darkly up at the man she used to call her friend.

He nodded. "She ordered your execution, fast and painful. Which way is up to me," he said, sadness again on his face. He did not like what he had to do but he was also a man who would never question his superior's orders…

Phin swallowed hard. At least she now knew why they had tied up her like this: she was to be blown to bits by these bombs! Indeed, fast and probably painful. – Biting her lip she hissed, "Sylvanas has used the Potent Plague to murder _innocents_." Looking up again she regarded him firmly, trying against hope to talk some common sense into his mind. "Surely you know that that is an unforgivable crime even by your kind's standards!" Yelling she added, "Come on, Horacio! You know as much as I do, that there are some things you just can't do!"

"You are right," he nodded. "But times changes many things, like the world around us. Garrosh wants us to do his job. Then he has to accept out methods. And besides, this is not about right or wrong, it is about to whom we answer." He nodded sternly to underline his words.

Looking around he sighted again. "We are done here. Close your eyes," he added mildly. "You will be dead before you will feel anything." With that, he turned his back to her, following his comrades.

Grinding her teeth in sudden temper, she snapped, "And you really believe that your plan will work?" Again she writhed in her tight bindings. "Do you really think I would idly sit here awaiting death by these blasted… bombs?"

Unimpressed he looked over his shoulder. "I'm aware of that," he said simply. "That's why we attached that collar." With that, he disappeared.

* * *

><p>Collar? <em>Blast!<em> She knew something was terribly amiss. Now she knew! These things were pretty useful to keep a mage prisoner in check, disabling him to reach into the ley currents and to use his arcane arsenal. She hadn't felt the metal ring attached around her neck, since her body was either in unspeakable pain or completely numb, not to mention that her head still gave her a hard time.

Shutting her eyes, she breathed hard, forcing her racing heart to calm down. _Yes, I'm trapped here, well done, Horacio_, she thought grimly. _But you should know me better…_

Magic is a strange business, Andros always used to say. It is everywhere around us, within us, in every single organic or inorganic device. Mortals believe, magic is something invisible, coming out of nowhere… but to us, Seraphita, it is a living thing. A beautiful thing of life.

About two hundred years had she spend with one single lesson from her master. All mages learned to feel the ley currents – but among the mortals of Azeroth, she was one of the very few individuals who delved deep enough into their craft to be able to _see_ them! _May the Highborn bless you, Andros_, she thought smirking. _It does not matter that you existed long before them…_

Her body was an accumulation of bone and flesh and blood, and every single fiber screamed in pain from being forced into this position. She already felt an upcoming cramp in one of her legs, she couldn't tell which one. Her head was aching still; she could feel her hair sticky in her neck, probably dried blood from the blow by… by whoever had found her up the roof and struck her on the head. They had bound her body to the altar – what a cliché! And bad taste, she thought sullen. At least they hadn't bound her _on top_ of it – that would be it… All in all her actual situation was…

_Face it, girl_ – she shut her eyes again, biting her lip to block out the pain. _This is worse than anything before!_

Looking up again she strained in her bonds, gazing over her shoulder to the high towering explosives. They might have attached a timer, probably made by goblins. It would activate itself after some time, enough for the Forsaken, to retreat out of the city and enjoy the fireworks from a safe distance.

She had to get out of here – just to spoil Horacios and Sylvanas' plans!

Shutting her eyes anew, she stretched her mental feelers. Normally these feelers or antennae as some mages also called them, could reach several yards and more around the mage, tapping into the ley currents. Not now. The collar blocked any reach of the feelers like a solid wall and normally a captured mage wasn't as fortunate to just sit in the middle of some current – in that case, the collar would be useless since the ley lines would simply pass through and within reach of the mages feelers – or antennae.

However, she could see the delicate fibers of silk-like threads stretching through thin air. The moment she had finally managed her masters lesson Phin was barely able to fathom the new world she was now able to see. All imaginable colors and even more shades, which had no names yet, were flowing like weightless rivers through the air. And right now there was one little rivulet passing right through her collar, within reach. It wasn't much; it couldn't even light a candle and was surely not capable of dislodging this collar… but enough to send a message.

She could sense them, the worgen within the city. Normally she would look for one special individual but since she didn't even know if he was still alive – _what are you thinking, of course he is fine! _– it would be smart if she would reach for all of them. Not that she would be able to send them anything big… _but hopefully enough for them to send some scouts… _Yes, that would be enough to stop it, she thought grimly. They might kill her as soon as they realized she was a blood elf, but hey, she was dead anyway.

After this, it would be impossible for her to go back to the Horde. Sylvanas wanted her dead and if she would succeed in warning the worgen and stop the destruction of the cathedral then the Forsaken would slip the information that she, Seraphita Moonshadow, had aided the enemy and sabotaged the war-efforts in Gilneas. They would hunt her even beyond the borders of this world!

_Easy decision then, now is it?_ she thought smirking. _Let's make sure to do one last good deed in this mortal world._ She got old, it seems. She already talked to herself…

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs… _and again. Again and again, one repeating after the other, the same words, the same message. _Trick – Cathedral – Bombs!_

_What a pity_, she thought before drifting off into trance, lost in her attempt to reach out as far as possible with the little resource at her disposal. _I should have told him… no, saying 'I love you' sounds so dull..._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter14**

Blackthorn groaned. Tumbling against a wall he looked up in death' merciless face. The axe was about to strike down at him, the face of the undead warrior full of reassurance about his victory over this worgen commander, when another body jumped in between. The axe was deflected by the fellow worgen and Blackthorn shook his head. Obviously he would not join the dead – at least not now…

With an angry growl, he grabbed the dagger, which blade stuck to the hilt in his arm, and pulled it free. Howling in pain his vision blacked out for a moment. Where was Gillian? Where was your healer when you needed him?

Huffing he took up his sword again, the leather wrapped hilt strained with gore of his enemies. It was unnerving; whenever he tried to rethink the situation, to consult with himself what to do next, out of nowhere some bloody undead would jump at him. The smoke still hindered him to see further than a few paces around him. Yet he had the impression that the attack was ceasing. Unfortunately, the smoke still hung between the houses and he could only see the shades of his worgen comrades. He was glad that no one of the 7th Legion was stationed in the city; since he could only see vague silhouettes, he could at least tell a worgen apart from a Forsaken…

"Commander!"

Blackthorn whirled around at the call. A worgen trouper was racing on all fours towards him, jumping elegantly over bodies and boulders. Straightening up before him, she stared at his bleeding arm. "Where is the healer?" she asked.

"Blast that healer," he grumbled. He'd throw himself into a bucked full of dunk and other foul liquids before he would let a stupid minor injury threaten his leadership or fighting ability… "What news can you tell me about the western flank? Did Phillips already secure his part of Greymane Court?"

"We were able to push them back, sir," the messenger answered, her eyes trailing to his arm and back again. "About ten percent of the buildings are destroyed, twenty percent destabilized, almost all the others are damaged. The smoke is still giving us a hard time, but beside of that we can manage."

Blackthorn nodded. "Good," he murmured. Good thing that at least the north quarter with the Cathedral was quiet. When the attack started, he had sent the guards of the Cathedral Quarter back to their posts. They hadn't returned yet for their report, but there was still some time left until he would start to worry.

Yet the whole attack was strange. When he had checked the house, which held the exit of the underground passage, neither he nor anybody else had smelled any Forsaken stench. Instead, they smelled something more irritating: a fellow worgen, and an elf!

Whenever he could take a breath he would brood over the question who came unknowingly into the capital, and why. Did it have anything to do with the Forsaken attack? To lure them to Greymane Court and make them vulnerable? – Blackthorn wasn't so sure about that anymore. No Forsaken or any other Horde had entered the city via the passage, so its secret seemed to be still intact. But had those who came through it, anything to do with the attack? And where were they? Through the chaos that followed soon after the alarm, they had lost track of the worgen and his elven companion. Could it be some agent of the 7th Legion? In that case, he, Blackthorn, would have known, he would have been informed…

Taking a deep breath, he regarded the messenger again. "Go back to your pack. If Phillips thinks he can risk it, I want him to send a few of his warriors down here. We need more warriors to secure this area."

"Right away," she said while whirling around and racing back to her pack.

Yes, he could have said that he claimed those warriors but Blackthorn knew his captains, he trusted their ordeal. If they thought, they can spare some blades he would gladly accept them…

Pulling himself up he looked around. "And find me that blasted _healer_! Show these cursed bonebags with whom they're dealing with…"

"You know, you could just ask me right away."

Blackthorn was about to howl in frustration. His wife had the habit to show up the very moment he was about to smash something. "What took you so long?" he grumbled, regarding the druid sulkily.

"You're not the only one who's in need for my service," she stated, placing her clawed hands over his injured arm. "Gillian has been drifted off while taking care of other warriors, so I came to take a look myself; you know pretty well that I'm stationed somewhere else…"

The commander felt the soothing warmth flood his body, little clashes all over his bruised body were healed away, the stabbing pain in his arm slowly vanished. His breath eased as the impact of the smoke was healed, too. He hadn't realized how much his breathing had suffered these last hours…

"Help me to remember, to ask for more healers… if we live through this…"

"_Commander!_" Blackthorns track of thought was interrupted another time when a worgen jumped down a roof and landed right in front of him. The grey furred commander was about to curse his soul out – why did everybody interrupted him these days? –, but the newcomer's excitement was too obvious. _Some good news at last?_ he thought hopefully.

"Duke Wallace," the man gasped. "I saw him!"

"What?" Blackthorn asked exaggerated, exchanging a bewildered look with his wife, who was just as stunned as he was. "What do you mean, you saw him? Where? When? Are you sure it was him?" Grabbing the poor messenger, he shook him. "Spill it out, man, are you sure?" Maybe it was just a mistake… with all that smoke…

"No, no," the messenger was practically beaming. "I saw him, I spoke with him! He is in the Military District! Captain Harrison was badly injured; the duke came out of nowhere, took over command, and is pushing back the attackers this very moment with our brothers and sisters! Harrison has sent me here to tell you." The younger man was panting from exhaustion and sheer ecstasy. Could it truly be? Was Gharion really alive?

Looking around wildly, Blackthorn tried to come to terms with his unquestionable duty and his impulse to see for himself if this could be true. Until this day, he and all the other thought and hoped that the duke was just dead. Then only a few hours ago he was sure, that his friend must have been captured and tortured, than after they checked the passages exit that he was just dead again – and now, like out of nowhere, he was said to be alive? Alive and well in this very city? But where had he been all these last weeks? Had he been prisoner of the Horde and managed to escape? – He would only believe it the moment he would see his old friend…

"Go back to Captain Harrison," he said then. "When he is back in form, tell him to send the duke here." Blackthorn could not prevent a smile slip on his face. "I bet he has a story to share…"

The messenger beamed again and was gone.

* * *

><p>Northgate Woods. Near its northern borders, these woods were hardly worth to be called such. Since the beginning of the war, the Horde never let a chance slip to thin out the forest. Yet these wood theft of Garrosh' men were limited to a relatively small patch. The forest between Gilneas City and the now broken Greymane Wall was still a dark place full of surprises and clever hidings. A good hunter or trapper could easily become invisible here, yet it was a remarkable ability to hide a whole army.<p>

The Undercity was not known for any rapid or bold decisions, nevertheless, now the woods where swarming with her skeletal soldiers, silently awaiting their orders. Seven divisions had been sent here by the Banshee Queen in person who had given her blessings for this risky yet promising attack. And her honored High Executor would do anything within and beyond his powers to ensure victory for his queen.

Horacio Amberton was frowning on top of his skeletal warhorse; from where he stood, he had a pretty good view over the gilnean capital. The smoke was already clearing in the eastern quarters of the city, he observed. That could only mean that his soldiers were pushed back instead of using the smoke to cover their retreat as planned. Obviously the defenders in that very part of the city were more feisty then the others… The High Executor knew that the worgen were sturdy opponents – he gave them that. Yet he had not expected them to overwhelm his Death Guards so soon…

_It does not matter_, he thought. _The signal has been given – the retreat has started already._ Lost in thought, he stroked the bony neck of his mount.

Horacio did not ascent to the position of a High Executor if he would already celebrate their victory. There was still some time left until the igniter would activate itself and blow up the Cathedral and with it the city. Too much time for Horacios comfort, yet he knew that the diversion-forces needed that much time to form their retreat. They had not sent many men down there, in fact the attackers were only a few in comparison to the effect the materials granted. The smoke and explosions were used only to confuse the defenders and to leave them in the dark about the true number of their enemies.

At this point, what else could possibly go wrong now? The plan was flawless and until now, everything had been according to this plan. None of the worgen would have suspected a spy among their forces, their trust in their pack was nonsensical.

However, not all worgen were loyal subjects of Genn Greymane, not all of them dedicated to the gilnean cause to regain their kingdom. There were those who had been trapped involuntarily in Gilneas, those who hated Genn for closing off his country, from closing the port and practically imprisoning them.

The Banshee Queen had heard of these seafarers who were trapped in Gilneas and who became afflicted by the Curse. As soon as Genn opened the port again after the Cataclysm, they had taken their ships and left as fast as they could, wanting no part in this war with the Horde. They were looking for profit and had allied themselves with the Bloodsail Buccaneers in Stranglethorn.

However, this secret worgen armada was uncovered by the Steemwheedle Cartel in Booty Bay. To dispose of their archenemies Booty Bay had infiltrated the Buccaneers and as a result, the whole fleet was destroyed. The Cartel thought, they had dealt with the worgen threat but some of them survived, disguised in their human forms they were sulking around in inns and drowning themselves in cheap whiskey and gin. It was no task for the Forsaken to employ them as spies for a nice sum of gold.

And they were worth every single copper coin they earned for their reports! They might be drunkards, but their collective dislike for Genn was enough for them to work far beyond their employers expectations. Thanks to them, the Forsaken finally had insight in the pack-structures and strategies of the Gilneans and their allies form the 7th Legion, a legendary unit which name was enough to wake nightmares among their enemies.

Thanks to these reports, the Deathguards had been able to get rid of many key figures within the gilnean defenses; Horacio had executed one of them in person. A nasty worgen rogue who killed dozens of his Deathguards until Horacio had been able to strike him down. Unfortunately, they had to retreat and Horacio could not claim the worgens head.

Somehow, this was still bugging him. The High Executor could not think of any reason why… During their preparations for the big assault they had not come across any trouble in the southern regions around Blackwald were this particular worgen had been operating. It could be possible that he had survived against all odds but fortunately, it did not matter anymore. The assault, planned for more than a year, was launched successfully.

And something else concerned him. It was that little elf, who was awaiting death tightly bound at the altar. The whole assault not only served the purpose to deal a mighty blow against the Alliance in the Eastern Kingdoms, but also to finally get rid of Garrosh' inspectors; they had become a real nuisance over the last months. And one of them almost escaped them. A scandal!

And yet a pity. Horacio knew the elf for a long time, he felt for her more than he ever felt for anyone since his unholy rebirth. She did not have any of those reservations against him, which he came across during all his previous travels among the other Horde capitals. To improve your reputation within the Horde as a representative of the Undercity you had to work day and night. It was impossible to decline an assignment and one wrong word could ruin all previous labor.

Horacio had tried to fit in in this giant construct of abandoned races and cultures. Until the fall of the Lichking, he had been successful, even among the tauren he had been well known as an honorable man.

But since Garrosh was in charge things had changed for the Forsaken. All resentments against them were increasing and while Thrall, the former warchief, had never doubted the loyalty of Sylvanas and her followers, Garrosh didn't waste any chance to make it clear that he would love to get rid of them and to claim the Undercity as a second Orgrimmar. As for Horacio, he resigned from his duties in Durotar and returned to his Queen, unable to stand any more backlashes against him and others of his kin.

He was there from the beginning when the plans were made. And even if he had his resentments against the Plague he was pragmatic enough to take the chances he got. Yet, Seraphitas outburst about right and wrong bugged him while he sat there on top of his warhorse. He remembered countless discussions with her and most of the time they had agreed with each other. Back then, he would not have thought that he would ever change his mind.

Yet he had.

Poor Seraphita. Surely, she would have never imagined him to be her executioner, and Horacio himself would have liked to have it any other way. However, he knew his place; they had made their choices.

The moment his assassin had brought her to him, he had known why she was in the city, even before they checked the bag and found the potions and the little portable lab. The Dark Lady was furious when he contacted her; the Queen said that a simple cutthroat would not do, that she-elf had to suffer before her end! She would have to wait, helplessly bound; she would witness how her life would slowly diminish like grains in an hourglass. Horacio was glad, that even though she had to wait it out, her death at least would not be as painful as requested by his Queen.

However, he did not feel reassured. Everything went smoothly today, only the elf was an unexpected element…

* * *

><p>Blackthorns heart gave a joyful clench. The smoke was slowly fading. Martha, his wife, had the idea of just blowing away the smoke with her druids. Their healing powers where too vital for their survival, so they had to wait but after a while, the druids had worked their wind-magic. Blackthorn was relieved beyond words that the attackers were finally retreating…<p>

"Bah, if I wouldn't had to almost die for this farce, I would laugh about this pitiable assault," a voice said behind him.

Sighting in relief Blackthorn did not have to turn around to see his friend. That voice was proof enough! "'Almost die', Gharion?" he asked jokingly; looking over his shoulder he regarded the tall worgen who finally joined him. "How close did you get?"

Gharion Wallace shrugged. "Let's just say, I wouldn't want to get there a second time," he just said casually.

Shaking hands Blackthorn examined his friend. That armor was not his, and those weapons did not belong to him either, yet they were of gilnean fashion. Was he limping? Given his friends abilities in melee combat the Commander was shocked by how many clashes were littering his friend's body. Blast! The Gharion he knew wouldn't even let an enemy close enough to strike against him and now he looked even worse than he did…

"Man, you need a healer," he stated. "I call my wife, she'll take of that."

"Thanks, Marty," Wallace waved away the other worgens concern. "I can manage…"

"No, you can't." Blackthorn took a closer look, a deep frown wedged between his brown eyes. "Whatever kept you away these weeks, you're not recovered from it…"

Gharion nodded calmly. "I did not say, I'm fine," he remarked. "I just said I can manage."

Sighting, Blackthorn shook his hand. "You know, this is not about your beloved sophistry…"

"I know that," Wallace nodded seriously. Then he gave a short bark. "I'm not used to healers anymore, it seems…"

Finally embracing his friend, Blackthorn said, "I expect you to tell a story to be recommended for some generations to come, old friend." Calling a nearby trapper, he added, "And now get your ass to the hospital, my curiosity can wait. I want you back in one piece in case these bonebags decide to come back for another round."

Clasping their hands a last time, Wallace followed the trapper. Blackthorn frowned as his eyes trailed over the other worgens body. Yes, he was indeed limping badly, and something was seriously wrong with his left shoulder… His pace missed the confidence it normally had. Whatever happened to him in these last weeks of absence, obviously, it was something from which he was not yet recovered. But why did he hide himself? Or had he really been prisoner of the Horde? How did he manage to fly then? And why did he leave his fine gear behind? Or had it been taken from him? … Could be…

Many questions remained and if he would have his way, he would not have let his friend go away to a healer. But he, Blackthorn, was the commissioned Commander of this city and beside of that a pack-leader, and the pack was his first priority! Wallace was back; his return would surely restore some spirit back into his men. Any questions would have to wait until they would have pushed back the undead from the Undercity – and hopefully killing as much aggressors as possible!

* * *

><p>Horacio felt content and could not suppress a slight smile. The retreat had started. The defenders had called for some druidic magic to get rid of the smoke but that would not help them now anymore.<p>

It would not take much longer, then… _Yes, then…_

The smile on the High Executors face deepened.

* * *

><p><em>Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…<em>

What did he just think?

Blackthorn shook his head as if he would shoo away a fly. Turning back to the messengers, he continued his instructions…

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

Hey, he did not think that! – Looking at the others he blinked in surprise. The worgen scratched their ears, one looking around puzzled. Did they…?

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

They heard it, too! What was that? Some hideous trick from the Forsaken for sure! If anything would be wrong with the Cathedral, his northern defenders would have given a sign –

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"What the hell is this?" he asked annoyed to none in particular.

The surrounding men just shrugged, not knowing how to answer to that. They all heard a strange voice in their heads, whispering yet persistent.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

Some men started to poke their ears, growling irritated as they tried primitively to get rid of the strange voice, which wanted to divert them from their task to secure the city.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"Where it a mage to explain this?" Blackthorn grumbled. "All right, brothers and sisters, we've talked it through –"

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"Yeah, tell me about it! – Get back to your packs. I want your reports within the hour! And just ignore this stupid voice."

Dismissing the worgen Blackthorn could not stop…

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

… wondering, why the attackers were retreating so soon. As far he was concerned, the Forsaken had not really achieved anything. For so boldly attacking the capital, they gave up far too soon for comfort…

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"No, no, no!" Martha cried. What was going on there? "You can't go anywhere, Gharion! Your leg is still in a bad shape and your shoulder is not –"

"_I don't care!_"

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

Wallace came stumbling out of the provisory hospital. His vest and shirt had been taken off and Blackthorn could not suppress a gasp. What in the name of Arugals sons had happened to his friend? He had known that Wallace had been injured, but while wearing his armor, it was hard to see. Now he saw those countless clashes all over the Duke's torso, some barely healed, some still bleeding, and a very nasty looking cut in his shoulder from which blood was practically pouring! How had he even been able to walk, let alone fight in that state?

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"What's going on?" Blackthorn asked briskly.

"He wants to follow that stupid voice," Martha explained while trying with another healer, Gillian as Blackthorn noticed, to pull their patient back into the house.

"Let go of me!" Gharion roared, thrashing against his healers. If he had been in his normal state, he would have been long gone... "I have to go to that blasted church! I have to see…"

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

Did he sound desperate?

"You're in no state to go anywhere," Blackthorn said firmly. Thinking a mental excuse to his friend, he grasped his left shoulder, pressing down hard.

The howl of pain echoed through the streets of Gilneas City, drowning the voice in all their heads for a moment:

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"Get him back inside," he growled. Both healers were appalled for a slight moment, than they grabbed their limp patient. Blackthorn knew full well, that his move against his friend was not to be excused by any apology, but he also knew that it was the best thing for now. – Following the healers, he caught Wallace's gaze who was now resting on a simple cot, and crept closer.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

His friends eyes, desperate before, were now pleading.

"I beg of you," he whispered, straining again the pain. "Check out the Cathedral! I beg of you in the name of our friendship, go there… or sent somebody else; I don't care, but check it out…"

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

Begging? Gharion Wallace, nephew of King Greymane, was _begging_ him?

"Tell him you'll send somebody," Martha whispered intently into her husband's ear. "He needs to calm down, otherwise the healing will take hours and he is not our only patient!"

Grumbling Blackthorn sighted. "All right, all right," he said, straightening up. "I'll check things out myself."

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

The effect came immediately. Wallace settled back into his pillow, nodding his thanks before drifting off into unconsciousness.

"How bad is he really?" Blackthorn asked his wife, who already started her healing.

"A strong mind can push people to do extraordinary things in desperate times," she said and shrugged.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"He has ignored his state," she continued. "Most of these wounds are older ones and almost healed; unfortunately the battle had been too much for them and many broke open. The one on his shoulder though might be interesting for you…"

Her husband only raised a brow. "Yes," she added impatient.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

"It's very deep but it was already improving nicely. And the most interesting part is that it had been sutured!"

Blackthorn blinked. "You mean somebody has taken him in?"

"And definitely somebody who is an expert in non-magical field healings." With that, she turned to her patient.

_Trick… Cathedral… Bombs…_

This was getting more complicated with each passing moment, he thought before leaving the house. Nevertheless, he just promised his friend, that he would investigate himself…

Grumbling he howled his command into the heavy sky, calling for some individuals of his pack to accompany him.

_This better be good,_ he thought grimly while jumping onto the next roof.

* * *

><p>"Everything is proceeding according to plan, Sir," the Death Guard said, saluting before his Commander, the High Executor.<p>

Horacio nodded, pleased that everything went so smoothly. "Any unpredicted incidents?" he asked just in case.

"No, Sir," the other man answered. "Our forces met strangely aggressive resistance in the Military District; we have lost most of our men there. But beside of that everything went well." The Death Guard seemed to be as pleased as he felt himself.

The High Executor nodded. "Gather our forces," he said. "And prepare them for further retreat. I don't want to stay too close when the bombs detonate…"

_What was that?_

Dismissing the Death Guard, Horacio grasped his spyglass. Gazing through it, he cursed under his breath: Worgen! Worgen were entering the Cathedral Quarter!

"Seraphita," he mumbled. This little minx! But how did she do it? With the Magebane-Collar and everything… Bah, it did not matter. "I should have killed you, when I had the chance… _Guard_!" The Death Guard was at his side immediately. "Send out command to all our forces. We will return into the capital!" He would be damned if the elf did not have anything to do with this… He had enough soldiers under his command to temporarily hold the Cathedral Quarter; he preferred so get as many of his men back to Tirisfal, but it seemed that things did not go according to plan…

* * *

><p>Blackthorn was cursing under his breath. This was the fifth dead warrior they had found, his throat just as neatly cut as the others did. And still that bloody voice in his head, which became more powerful the closer they came to the Cathedral. Yet he could be hardly concerned by that anymore. These warriors had been murdered by assassins and though he didn't smell anything in particular, he bet his right arm and leg that Forsaken were responsible for this mess.<p>

At least, now he knew, why he didn't get any alarm from the northern quarter. _How could I've been so stupid_, he kept asking himself as he and his comrades crept closer to the Cathedral. He should have gotten suspicious when he didn't get any news from them… They were not long dead, but the fact that they had been assassinated and not fought in battle like they had in the southern city made it starkly obvious: The whole attack had been a bloody diversion!

He didn't like to admit it, but so far that voice in his head was telling the truth… at least if that's what 'trick' meant…

Reaching the plaza, he cursed anew. _Forsaken!_ They had been here – that rotting stench all around them was telling him louder than any screech! And the defenders had been too busy in the south to notice – and the guards here had been dealt with. Whoever was responsible for this, the plan indeed was brilliant. Probably even the retreat had been planned! And everything was leading to the Cathedral! What if…

_Oh, come on, no bombs now…_ he thought desperately while forsaking any caution and sprinting on all four paws for the high towering building in the center of the city. His men followed closely, nervously staring around, expecting an attack by Forsaken every moment… They all heart the voice in their heads, and after finding their murdered comrades they were more open to the idea that the voice was a true warning after all… What if there really were bombs deposed in the Cathedral? It would be…

* * *

><p>Weeeeeeee are in trouble now – well, a certain blood elf is.<p>

I'm really desperate now. When on earth do I write a word with a capital letter?


	15. Chapter 15

Maybe I'm just paranoid but I want to mention it nevertheless:

I'd like to remind anyone, who drops by, to keep the **M-Rating** in mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter15<strong>

The Cathedral of Gilneas City was completely different from its counterpart located in Stormwind. While the Stormwind Cathedral was made of white stone, the insides made of gold and marble, the gilnean Cathedral was just as huge, yet just like the Gilneans themselves more of the gloomy sort. If the Stormwind Cathedral made the impression of weightlessness, Light's Dawn Cathedral in Gilneas went the opposite. Yet it did not matter which one you entered, standing before the altar your own existence became negligible.

At least, that was how Blackthorn always felt when he would visit the Cathedral as a little boy with his parents. Only happier memories were left of these past days, now the Commander stared petrified in shock at the towering pile of explosives, his men straighten next to him, staring equally stocked.

Their moment was short lived though when another _Trick – Cathedral – Bombs_ echoed through their minds. Blackthorns eyes dropped to a dark bundle of… what was that?

"Quickly!" he barked, rousing his men from their stare. "There must be something like a timer – find it!" Worgen had very sensitive noses, if there was an igniter, they would find it. In the meantime, he would check that unfortunate captive…

Stepping closer he made out pale pointed eyes procuring out of a dark mess of hair. What was an _elf_ doing here of all places? Kneeling in front of her, he snarled suddenly. This scent! He knew this scent!

_Wallace?_

Grabbing the bound arms of the elf, he shook her firmly, slapping her face. "Wake up!" he barked. Gharion was in no state to answer questions, but this elf held a couple pieces of a larger puzzle, and Blackthorn was determined to uncover them.

Heavy lids fluttered open, dark clouded eyes wandering aimlessly around until they focused on him. "Oh," she said softly, wonder in her voice. Then she smiled – why did she smile? "You are faster than I hoped for…" The elves head rolled forward again.

At least her persistent whispering in their heads had ceased…

Blackthorn cut the elf off the altar, untying her legs but left the ropes around her ankles. He saw the metallic ring around her neck – _a Magebane_, he thought surprised. How had the elf managed the resources to send a message with that thing on her throat? But that was unimportant now. On this close proximity, he smelled his friends scent clearly all over her, her hair, her skin, her clothes… What kind of an elf was she anyway? The high elves of the 7th Legion always wore their uniforms… Was she a high elf at all?

Leaning closer Blackthorn took in the scent, and snarled again. Hitting her again hard two times, four times he howled in rage: "It's a bloody _blood elf_!"

May it be from the pain or his angry howl but the elf, he held up by the collar of her robe, her gilnean fashioned robe, her eyes fluttered open again, staring slightly more focused at him.

Throwing her on the ground in disgust, he spat out while she landed on the unyielding ground with a painful groan. Staring down at her Blackthorn felt his rage rising even higher as her fear started to evaporate from her bound form and filling his flaring nostrils. This blood elf had nothing to do here! Yet she had lured them here. Probably she was some kind of a collaborator of the Forsaken and they just got rid of her. Well, he would not let this blood elf get away as easily by just killing her. He would have his answers!

"Sir, I found it!"

Whirling around Blackthorn regarded the other worgen who came closer breathlessly, a small black devise in his hands.

"What are you waiting for?" he barked impatient. "Get the blasted thing away from here and destroy it as fast as you can! The rest of you, send out word to the other packs and get them here! This battle is far from over!" While his comrades rushed out of the Cathedral and as far away from their raging Commander, Blackthorn turned back to the trembling blood elf.

What was wrong with those eyes? Just a cheap trick to make him think she would be a high elf. Hah, stupid elf! Nobody could fool a worgen! Especially no blasted pointy eared half-bred!

Grabbing her at the collar, he straightened her up again to face her. She was tiny, even for an elf. These huge eyes were almost ridiculously large for this petite thing. He was about to state his next questions when he saw something strange on her exposed skin… Tearing at the fabric, making her shriek in fright, he bared her shoulder, and the jagged scar. It was no scar made by a blade; Blackthorn knew this kind of a scar; it was mark, made by another worgen!

_Wallace?_

"All right, pretty eye," he snarled, "you better start talking or I'll bite off your bloody ears. Then every single of your fingers and toes, and then I will tear off your arms and legs, 'till you've told me _everything _I want to know from you, got it?"

She nodded vigorously. "I… I'll tell you anything," she stuttered. He could even hear her racing heart. That and her scent told him that her fear was real… and it made him mad with rage. This elf did not belong here!

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded. "And who send you here?"

Swallowing, she answered, "I am… I am Seraphita, Seraphita Moonshadow. Arcanist of Silvermoon." She licked her dry lips, trying to breathe to vocalize her words. "I… I have been send here by Hellscream to… investigate – "

"Investigate _what_?" he shouted, shaking her. Good thing she was so small, she was like a rag doll…

"The Plague," she cried. "I was sent to investigate about the Plague!"

Investigate? Interesting. So Hellscream did not know about the Banshee Witches doings here? – "And how did you come here?"

Hah! He knew it: though she was shaking like a leaf the little minx's lips where shut tightly, no sound escaping them. Then, slowly, "I… came with the Forsaken troops."

He snorted. A bloody elf and a bloody liar. Pulling her closer he breathed into her face, knowing all too well the effect it had over her when her trembles increased. "Last chance," he growled lowly. "How – did you – come – here? Think of your beloved ears… you don't want to lose them, now do you, half-bred?"

By the word 'half-bred', those long ears twitched slightly – apparently a term these arrogant spellcasters had a problem with, he though smugly.

"I… don't lie, I – " Her scream of pain tore through the Cathedral, echoing inside the high room the moment his free hand closed around her right ear. He had guessed right, elven ears where just as sensitive as a worgens. Any information was useful information…

"Stop it… please," she begged, tears already gathering in her shocked eyes.

Not releasing his grip on the elongated sensory, he stated, unmoved by her outburst, "If you'd just answer the questions truthfully, you wouldn't have any trouble, half-bred." He lazily dropped her impassive over the altar, hair splaying down over the other side of the wooden plate. Yes, he had to admit, she had nice hair.

Breathe hitching she stared up at him. She was scared already, but she was still keeping her part of the puzzle; he needed her to be terrorized…

Leaning over her prone form, placing his paws next to hear face, he whispered, "I know that you came through the underground passage…" – Catch! – Whoever employed this amateur should send a better liar next time; she was like an open book. – Grabbing her neck, slightly closing his fist to chock her, he went on almost casually, "Who told you?"

She was writhing now; he could almost hear as she wished to all deities to make her vanish in thin air. But there was solid wood in her back and what deity would answer to a blood elf anyway? – Not terrorized enough it seemed.

He did not like it, no, but this was not about liking something or not. And since she was just a blood elf he didn't even feel too bad. – Leisurely one hand settled on her knees. Delicate elf, huh? Just one simple touch could make her flinch. She wouldn't last long. Almost a pity, but maybe he could play with her longer later…

The seam of her robes, they weren't her clothes anyway, was pulled up – an overly warm paw settling onto bare skin. Yes, that was more like it: She was squealing now, thrashing against her bonds. Her scent of fear was seeping through her skin, she was about to feint as her heart fluttered against the cage of her ribs.

"What else did Wallace tell you?"

No, this was not what he wanted. Her wet eyes blinked and stared up in confusion. "Who…?" she started. "I… I don't know anyone with that name."

Oh, this was an utter waste of time! – Grabbing her ear again, he twisted it in his fist, making he screech in agony. "Wallace told you about the passage!" Blackthorn roared. "What else did he tell you? _What foul magic have you done to him to make him betray the pack_?"

"I didn't," she sobbed between whimpers. "I didn't know his name… I didn't know him… Please…"

Somehow, her pleadings made him even angrier then he already was. This she-elf had bewitched his friend, sold his knowledge to the Forsaken, and then she expected mercy from _him_ because her so-called allies wanted to get rid of her! – Roaring savagely, he flipped her roughly onto her stomach. Spreading her thighs apart with his knee, he grabbed her crotch, his claws piercing the sensitive flesh of her sex. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back; her scream was chocked due to the angle of her throat.

"Now, half-bred," he growled menacing into her ear. "I can tell you, I could throw up with your disgusting stench but I know pretty well, that you cannot stand being abused by me. And I promise you, if you don't talk right now" – not caring for her well-being he pressed two digits into her sex, buried them in one thrust to the hilt in her body, feeling how the sharp claws were tearing the insides of her channel – "then you'll learn what it means to truly feel pain."

Despite the severe angle of her neck, the moment his fingers pressed into her, she screamed anew, wailing in despair. She tried to force her body to hold still; the more it wiggled the more his hard thrusting claws would tear open her insides. He smelled her blood running out of her and down her spread thighs…

"So," his fingers came to a halt in her ravaged core, "what else did Wallace tell you? What else did you sell to those wretched undead?"

Howls! _Oh, not now, come on!_ – Releasing her, Blackthorn straightened up, turning to the entrance when some worgen came in.

"What news?" he commanded, not caring that blood was dripping from his own fingers. From what the howls told him, the Undercity had indeed sent additional troops to those they already encountered previously…

"We don't know for sure, Sir," one of them said, not bothering the sobbing blood elf. News about their unexpected prisoner had already spread among their ranks. "But it seems they are gathering north from here…"

"North?" Blackthorn gasped in shock. How did they…? – Frowning he asked, "How big is their army?"

"About seven separate divisions," another one said. "Each about two hundred men strong."

Blackthorn snorted. "Those are not men," he grumbled. One last glare down at the elf, she was breathing hart, trying to calm herself. It would take some time to make her talkative again… As sensitive and inexperienced this amateur was, she did have vital information. He would uncover what she had done to his friend… – Turning back to his men, he ordered, "Sent word to all our cities defenses. Every able bodied warrior and every healer, who can be spared from the hospitals, are to gather here in the Cathedral Quarter. Sent a message to High Commander Wyrmbane; we need the 7th Legion!"

While leaving he added, "The rest of you, stay inside the Cathedral and guard those blasted bombs! If any bonebag wants to get in, kill it! As for the elf," he paused, looking darkly at the miserable trembling mess on the altar, "if she is making any trouble, disarm her properly – I want her alive for further interrogations. And if she's really bugging you… don't mind yourself to introduce her to gilnean hospitality, the one reserved for filthy little spies like her…"

* * *

><p>The cot was hart but at least he did not feel any pain. He was tempted to sit up and join his brothers in the upcoming fray, but he knew his body would not stand that. He was stuck here; he had to wait until the healer's magic would restore him to his former state.<p>

_I should have told him, I should have told him… Is she all right?_ What would Martin do to her, when he found her? Martin was a worgen, he would smell him on her, and he had fought countless Horde in the past… the Commander knew how to tell the difference between a high elf and a blood elf. – He cursed under his breath.

"Martha, for all that is good and sane in this blasted world, please hurry…" he murmured.

"Just a bit more, Gharion…" she just replied calmly, ignoring his impatience.

He felt devastated. He should have taken her with him! His plan, to send her to safety out of the city… it had seemed so easy. He would be able to make good some of his shortcomings since he had been almost slain in Blackwald and she would be away from those who would do her harm, only for what she was.

_Face it, man_, he thought to himself. _You were no different when you first saw her… you were just too puny to do anything…_

Diluted pictures filled his inner eye as he remembered himself back to the house in Stormglen where he woke up after a nightmare. His pack had been ambushed in Blackwald; the High Executor had been searching for him but how did he know where he was operating? How did that undead fiend even know about him at all?

The surprise had barely settled when he realized that something was amiss. He was fighting that Executor with all skill and wit and experience and they were equally matched. The Forsaken was a worthy fighter, an expert in melee combat and barely bothering his heavy plate armor. And except his bluish skin and those glowing eyes… and the stench and the fact that was he was as haggard as a skeleton, this man… was not the usual Undead…

It took some time until he realized what was going on, that he was poisoned! He felt how the venom was spreading through his entire system, corrupting it. The more he fought it, the stronger its hold became on him, until he lost the strength to fight, to hold his daggers, to stand upright. The pain which came along was excruciating, every fiber of his body stood aflame, every breath was like both blazing fire and liquid ice. His eyes were already drifting out of focus and he found that he was perversely thankful for it… He only saw that the Forsaken were retreating quickly, he heard the Executor yelling orders in their gargling language and though he thought, they would take him prisoner or steal any other token of their victory like his head, they left in a hurry.

Could he have saved his comrades? – Common sense told him _no_. There was a leak within the pack; someone had slipped the information about him, about his preferred tracks… The mere thought made him cringe. Which worgen could possibly even think of betraying the pack, not to mention to sell them out to their enemies?

Outsiders could not understand the pack-spirit; even the night elf Druids had their difficulties with grasping the archaic social structures. One would think that the human reasoning would dominate the bestial instincts of the wolf, but it was just the other way round: though the worgen had overcome their ferocity and lust for destruction, they were still slaves to the feral aspects of the wolf – and it made their community stronger. They were many smaller packs melted into one large pack, into one spirit, united under their alpha, King Greymane.

How could anyone, any _worgen_ deny the pack-spirit?

That rainy night he knew that he would never find out, not in this life at least. However, he woke up again! Feeling warm and clean, the searing pain was only a distant memory. Then that smell, a female… an elf. He could tell by the fresh flowery tune of her scent he had encountered before by the high elves from the 7th Legion. First he thought he had somehow being rescued by one of their allies… But then another subliminal tune of this females scent surfaced and he almost wished he was dead. This tune was… like dust-dry deserts. Orcs had the same tune, maybe because they lived mainly in the arid regions of Durotar and the Barrens – places he had visited for a few weeks before he returned to Gilneas.

So his rescuer was a Horde! A _blood elf_ no less. He had heard many nasty stories about her kind's cruelty against Alliance prisoners, against any enemy they got their hands on. Why ever this elf had helped him was beyond him – but it could not be anything good. And worst of all, though the pain was gone and he felt rather fine, he could not lift a finger, let alone fight his jailor.

But this elf was… strange to say the least. He found it amusing how she tried to hide her reactions and he found out soon that she was more unnerved by his presence then he was by hers. And then her scent… it gave away her alignment to the Horde, but also something else, something he could not point out in the beginning.

The most astonishing thing was that she seemed to be truly concerned about his well-being. His first guess was that he was left in her charge so the Forsaken could come back to interrogate him properly or anything else while he was in a more stable condition. And then the third morning after the battle, he realized he could get up, he could finally kill the elf!

He knew she had a dagger somewhere, very careless of her… The next moment he faced her, he already thought she was waking up. He was taken aback that she was… sleeping. Hair splayed around her face, her neck exposed. Even a half grown pup could have stabbed her… And for reasons unknown to him, he decided to not kill her. He knew her concern for him was real; it came from her desire to help him instead to just keep him alive for further use. That was enough reason for him to give her a chance to prove herself.

Sheathing the dagger, he just laid out a simple trap at the door. She would not notice it but he would know if she would try to leave the house to contact anyone behind his back.

He was glad about his decision. Though shocked and suspicious that he was up before her, she still did not show any sign of hostility or ill willingness.

Rather soon, he also realized that she had created magical wards around the house… that nobody from the outside could look inside. Days later, she explained to him how they worked and how many she had established on the house…

Until that, his health was improving fast, and with it all his senses, which had stepped back during his illness. And her scent, her strange arousal became starkly obvious. He tried to ignore it but he could not stop teasing to coax all sorts of reactions from her. The ones he got made him almost crazy. The wolf inside him wanted to mate with this female, to claim her; it did not care about the fact that she was an enemy. Her arousal, no matter where it came from or why she felt that way, was too obviously telling him that she was positive to the idea. But her mind was not. He was entertaining himself pretty well those hours when he drove the poor elf mad…

Until the day when he could not hold himself back anymore…

His human mind wanted to reason with him that he could not possibly feel anything for this enemy. However, his wolf spirit was hardly concerned by any of those regal doubts. It had claimed her as his mate and wolfs mated for life.

But they were separated, because he thought he had sent her off to safety outside the capital. Yet for some reason she stayed. He should have told his friend what to expect in the Cathedral, that she was a friend and no enemy… No, Martin Blackthorn though one of his closest friends was no man to be trifled with. Nothing he would have said would protect his mate from his friend's wrath. Blackthorns hatred for the Forsaken, the Horde in general went too deep. He was beyond reasoning… _just as I had been…_

_Hold on, my elf_, he though while his torn body was slowly reattaching under the healing powers of the calm druid. _Just a little bit more…_

* * *

><p>That was… the fourth. And he had taken her rear.<p>

Phin couldn't suppressed a groan of pain as the worgen withdrew from her broken aching body, leaving behind sticky strands of semen, which were already running down her thighs and drying on her skin. Her guardians had taken their Commanders order by heart. When nothing happened, when no more orders came for them and they grew tired of watching a pile of explosives and a bound and exposed blood elf, they started to appreciate her as a nice little distraction.

First, they had just toyed with her, but 'just' was a relative term. They started mocking her, and all she could do was biting her lip to keep her sobs and tears at bay. Their teasing went on as they taunted her for her poor judgment about her allies and being betrayed by them, that she did not deserve any better than this. Then they mused about how high they would make her scream, or how many males she could satisfy at the same time…

All the while their paws and claws where on her uncovered backside and legs. Blood was still seeping out of her tormented sex, she smelled it, and since they were feral worgen, it was no surprise that her blood had its effect on them. Oh, how was she hoping it had not… They truly did not spare her any disgrace, some of them pressed their fingers inside her, tearing open even more minor yet painful slashes, making her whimper – the only sound she could not prevent from slipping her yet. Or they just leisurely raked their claws over her nude skin, pinching it or smacking her bottom until the skin was angrily reddened. The neckline of her robes was pulled down to expose her shoulders and the ragged scars on them. They made mean jokes about them, knowing full well what kind of creature had left them there, and musing about how deep to tear open her flesh to completely cover up those marks.

It was not the pain, they were inflicting upon her; it was her humiliation and embarrassing position. Leaning over the wooden altar, more a table on which candles and books should lay, her hands and twisted arms were still bound tightly on her back. She couldn't move anywhere with her also bound ankles and dangling toes. And magic? Her craft was forsaking her here. While their Commander was dealing with her, she had been too afraid of him to even think about looking for ley currents to pass through the collar around her neck. And now she was lying in a dead spot, there were no lines at all, she was at their mercy.

When they got bored by her convulsions and whimpers, they exchanged a nod and she knew that her torment was just about to start. She wanted to cry at them; didn't they have any respect before a holy place like this? After all, it was _their_ Cathedral… But the sudden pain in her tight sheath wiped away any thoughts.

The Commander had left countless bleeding slashes deep inside her sex, when he had just started his interrogation. He had left her sobbing and breathless on the altar, now his comrades were taking advantage over her and while the first of them was thrusting his manhood in her sore channel, she could only scream. And cry.

Her body was not prepared for this intrusion, nor would she ever have wanted it. Some last common sense tried to make her body relax to ease a little bit of the pain, but it was useless. The longer the male behind her was jerking into her abused core the more tense she got until agony was claiming her brain and she became deaf from her own wails ringing in her ears.

The moment the worgen released his seed into her belly, she fell silent. She heard something break, deep inside her while tears were streaming down her cheeks and onto the wood under her. When Horacio turned his back to her, she felt betrayed by her friend; she wanted to do anything to anger him, to cross him and his precious plans, to have at least some slight victory. But how could she have foreseen this?

While hot seamen were dripping out of her throbbing channel, the next worgen lined himself behind her. "What's the matter, half-bred," he snarled while yanking her head back. "It's not like we are the first worgen getting a taste of you…" With that, her torment started anew.

She was perversely thankful that her insides were lubricated by the sticky seed of her previous abuser; the liquids were easing the brute strokes of the second. But not much and soon she was crying again. With every merciless thrust into her core another moan of agony was pushed from her throat while even breathing with this severe angle became straining…

Another gush of hot cum flooded her insides. By now she was nothing was a sobbing, hurting piece of flesh, unable to talk or think. Everything was pain and agony and the moment the third man took position behind her, she broke apart in tears. She noticed the first hard thrusts before she passed out, thankfully welcoming blackness to consume her.

The worgen was sating his need with her and didn't mind the limb elf while jerking off. Patting her head, he sarcastically called her an 'elf-pet' and so brave to please all of them so thoroughly… She heard neither him nor the answer of the next candidate. "Let's wake her up then so she can fully appreciate it…"

If she thought she had endured pain before, the fourth worgen was proving her wrong…

The soothing blackness was torn before her eyes when excruciating agony shot through her rear. Were they splitting her in two? – She didn't know where she was, where the top and bottom were, there was only unspeakable anguish. Her piercing screech was drowning the bemused chuckles of her guards when she was indeed roused up by their comrade who was sating his need with her unused rear opening.

She was begging unconsciously for that blackness to return, for death, for mercy, for anything that would make this stop. The Commander had been right; she was terrorized by the thought of being abused by him. His men were now taking advantage of her, yet it seemed that what they did to her was only a mere warming-up of what was awaiting her in their Commanders claws…

She didn't pass out this time no matter how much she wished for it, and there were no more tears left to be shed by her reddened eyes. Hiccups and sobs shook her tiny body while she could feel the worgens liquids flowing out of her maltreated holes. She smelled her own blood and their seed, as it mingled with each other, a viscous goo slowly running down and drying on her bare thighs.

Her ears were still deaf from her screams but she did not miss her captor's laughter and joking. They smacked her behind every now and then while debating her qualities as a toy to be used for their pleasures. She was too weak to even ignore their insulting comments about the warmth of her tight cunt, the roundness of her ass or how funny her overlong ears had jiggled with each thrust.

There wasn't even enough power left to hope for any turn of events.

_I want to die. Oh merciful Light, please, just let me die…_

The first howls came from outside the Cathedral. Not long, and the first clashes of steel upon steel were be heard by those inside. Seraphita Moonshadow did not care anymore.

* * *

><p>Blackthorn felt his heart drop. There were much less of his men left then he had hoped. The smoke of the diversion-attack had taken its toll over them. Many had been taken by surprise and with their hindered senses many worgen were barely able to cope with much else. Some had even shifted back into humans to prevent being too much effected by the biting smoke. Unfortunately, some were attacked by their own comrades for being mistaken as Death Guards.<p>

Now the Commander of Gilneas City had only two thirds of the capacity he was expecting. Even though their plan had been flawless, the Forsaken had not taken chances themselves. In case things would go wrong, they accepted to be slaughtered here or torn to pieces by their own bombs. It looked as if they would come back to ignite those explosives by hands. Did they lose their mind?

Blackthorn knew his forces were outnumbered; he wasn't too worried though, any worgen could easily count for two of these bonebags… And besides, he knew that any of his men was just as determined as he was to make sure their enemies would meet their demise by the worgens claws and blades.

Yet there was one man he missed most dearly these moments. Gillian had come back from the hospital; the elderly priest informed him, that Duke Wallace was still being cared of by Martha and that he would need more time… Blackthorn could only hope that his friend would be back to normal soon and ready to cut down some Forsaken. At least he had the certainty that all wounded defenders would join them as soon as they were healed in the hospitals. Until that time, they had to do with what they had.

The grey furred Commander pushed aside all his thoughts the moment he heard the first horn signals. Frowning he stared northwards. He had always said that it would be wise to destroy the large bridge that lead into the Cathedral Quarter… It was a little hole, barely broad enough for ten fully equipped men to march in a row. Yet it was a hole nonetheless and Blackthorn was tempted to take those explosives in the Cathedral and throw them back to their attackers… Unfortunately, bombs tended to be very sensitive when it came to move them; so instead of carrying them off and risking blowing up the city, it was wiser to keep them where they were. At least for now.

Blackthorn had divided his troops. Since the plaza was a wide open space surrounded by the high towering houses of Greymane Court in the south and Merchants Square in the east, it was an easy to defend spot. The approaching army had only two possibilities by which to enter this part of the city, one over the broad bridge (why hadn't they blown up the thing by now?) and another over the higher build channels next to Merchants Square.

They were close now, a menacing force like a dark flood. Indeed, they were dividing their force in two. Blackthorn could make out their Commander, a so called High Executor – _oh, crap!_ That man, so unlike any Forsaken he had met so far, surely was a cunning one. He did not only send his men to the two most obvious entrances into the city but also started to establish siege machines to overcome the channel and city walls!

Blackthorn could not help but admire that guy, sitting on his demonic warhorse as if it was a throne. He truly did not count on luck in case everything went well; instead, he had enough foresight to have another plan at the ready if the one with the bombs would fail. And how on Azeroth did he manage to hide his army so well?

The worgen Commander grinned. He was indeed looking forward to tear this man to pieces…

* * *

><p>In the Cathedral, the guards were waiting and listening intently. When the first battle reached them inside the Cathedral, they briskly ignored their captive. Their chats stopped and with drawn steel they took up their positions against any intruder.<p>

The tiny blood elf however tried to hide her face with the dark mass of her hair. Like a child, she imagined that if she didn't see anything, than nobody would see her in return… Still her body was aching beyond reckoning and in addition to her sore arms and wrists, her abused sex and anus added to it like oil in the fire.

By now, she had regained her breath and she was focusing hard on taking deep breaths to calm her heartbeats. In and out, slowly in and out. She could hear the howls and shouts from outside, and the clashes of steel. And even if her body was aching and burning everywhere even in places she didn't know she had, her mind woke up again, staying alert even while trying to keep her as inconspicuous as possible.

Did Horacio come back to finish the job in person? Well, somehow she wasn't surprised by that. Garrosh and Sylvanas had one thing in common: neither of them accepted failure. As brilliant and flawless as their plan was, there always happen something unpredicted… like a tiny elf, which showed up just the wrong moment.

And yet she felt no triumph while she lied there, her cheeks feeling rough from all those salty tears. Unwanted pictured filled her mind, making her almost sob again, when she remembered the one worgen, who's tenderness and warm embrace could have made her forget anything else in this world. Forget about the fact that they were enemies, and what would await her at the hands of any other man of his kind and alignment…

Yes, she had totally forgotten about that. Only because her wolf ('Wallace' was his name?) was friendly towards her because she had saved his live, didn't mean that others would share his feelings. Where was he now? That angry Commander had not said anything about it and she wished she could have managed the bravery to ask him about her wolfs condition… She did not dare to ask her wardens though, not now since they finally ignored her.

But she had to know. She had to know, if he was all right… She just… Again tears where gathering in her eyes. _I would give anything within my power to see him… just for once…_

Hey, that was steel upon steel – _inside_ the Cathedral!

Rousing up she twisted in her bond, looking over her shoulder as far as her aching body allowed.

About twenty worgen had been left behind to defend the Cathedral and keep an eye on their captive. Each and everyone of them a seasoned warrior and trained to face any kind of thread head on. With unbelieving eyes, Phin witnessed half a dozen shadowy figures swarming the Cathedral. Forsaken, yes, and deadly one! With their poisoned blades and lithe bodies the charged the guards.

If anyone would have told her this, she would not have believed it! Six Forsaken outnumbered by twenty worgen... and the guards were falling faster then flies! The Forsaken were trained assassins, each hit and strike hit home, disarming and poisoning their opponents before dealing the well placed killing blow.

It didn't take them more then a few moments then it was quiet again in the holy house, except for those twenty bloodstained bodies littering the ground.

Walking up to the tightly bound elf, a female leaned over the wood beside her, the leather suit making no sound.

"Hello, pretty-pretty," she greeted with a joyful wink.

Phins breath hitched. That voice… "You knocked me out!" she cried, staring disbelieving into the assassins amused face while the other newcomers strode past her to the explosives in the back of the Cathedral.

"First lesson, girly," the Forsaken girl said cheerful. "Always watch your back. Bad, bad boys can sneak up on you – or bad, bad girls for that matter." Winking slyly she gave the elf a loud smack on the still bare and bruised backside, making the other girl gasp in surprise. She didn't linger though to entertain herself with the bound elf, instead she straightened up again to join her fellow Forsaken comrades who were already tinkering in front of the explosives – probably attaching something?

"What are you doing there?" Phin asked, trying her best to ignore the stabbing pain coursing through her abused body. "Do you want to blow those up by hand?"

"Ah, no, no," the female assassin said casually. "We're just attaching a new timer, then we cut your throat and then we will be on our way again."

Phins head began to swim. A new timer… but that would mean… and with all those warriors of both sides fighting right before the Cathedral… "But... that would kill also your own comrades," she said bewildered. "Surely the Dark Lady is not in for that…"

The assassin just shrugged her bony shoulders. "Who knows what the Dark Lady wants. Don't worry about that though; even if we won't have as much time for retreat this time, some loss will always be there in a war, right? And we do know one thing about our dear Lady: she wants results." Leaving her comrades, she stepped toward the elf, leaning over the altar herself to face the bound mage. "Do you want a blindfold?" she asked merrily.

'_You are very excitable'_, her wolf had stated on more than one occasion, and once again Phin felt her mood subsiding. Blazing anger interchanged with fear and confusion as she stared into the joyous face of her soon-to-be murderer. "Not me, but maybe you!" she shouted, glaring viciously at the Forsaken. Jerking forwards, she smashed her forehead against the assassins, catching her off guard.

It hurt, especially since her previous headache had not lessened these past hours, but she felt definitely better! "That's for sneaking upon me," she spat before jerking a second time to get off the altar. Bound tightly she could not keep her balance but she accepted it while her form fell heavy to the ground and rolling down some treads. Somewhere here she had seen them…

She groaned in pain when she was kicked in her back, the assassin looming over her, not in the slightest as gleeful as before. "So," she stated, glaring down at the elf who dared to surprise her. "You want me to do this the hard way?"

Phin barely felt the added pain from the assassins kick. Lying on her back, she regarded the Forsaken equally furious. "No," she said sharp while her feelers already tapped into the broad current flowing right though her. "I want you to get _off_ of me!" There was a faint 'click'-sound.

The other five assassins whirled around in shock when they heard their comrades screech of agony. Before they could react though, their undead eyes witnessed, how the girl was hoisted high into the air and torn to pieces by invisible hands.

* * *

><p>Perfect, I have to use a new word-program. I'm doomed! .<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

First of all, thanks for the advice about Forsaken assassins and the fact, that they're normally called "Deathstalkers" - it's kind of a shame I forgot about that...

Anything else? No... except maybe that this chapter was a pain in the ass (it really was...) to write and I'm all too happy to be done with it ^^°

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter16<strong>

Blackthorn was somehow proud of himself. Not that he would ever tell anyone to copy his plan, it was foolhardy and likely to kill every single one of them, but if it worked they would surely pay the Forsaken a heavy blow in their plans... They hadn't brought a large force with them anyway. It dawned to him, that the elf really did them a great favor, maybe he had been a bit rough to her? … No, she had done something to his friend and the fact, that she came through the secret passage only mere moments before the Forsaken started their large scale distraction made her suspicious at best. Maybe his rage and concern drove him a bit far but still... there were too much open questions.

When the first runners approached him, Blackthorn directed his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Hopefully they brought the carpenters with them – without their advice and skill this plan would most likely end up the way the Forsaken had intended from the very beginning. They had to stabilize the back of the Cathedral to prevent the explosives to accidentally blowing up on their own.

They had go get this over with fast. As soon as the Forsaken would realize that they were about to seal off the Cathedral to prevent them to get inside, they would most probably try to stop them at all cost...

"Sir," the first runner sad, panting slightly from running faster than he ever had in his life, "we were able to fetch all components, you have required. Everything will be at the ready withing the hour."

The Commander frowned. One hour? That was a long time to keep the tide at bay. Turning to the second runner, he gave a slight nod, the silent command to report.

"We haven't been able to get any news of the 7th Legion, sir," she said. "None of our messengers did return yet."

One hour holding back an army and no news of their own allies? Something really wasn't quite right here. If there were any problems with the 7th Legion they would have contacted them – except from howls there were enough mages in both their forces to contact each other. _Something seems to occupy them then, _he mused.

Turning back at the first runner, he said, "Get back and make sure they fetch those parts – and the carpenters! Kick their asses and whatever it takes to get them speeding up matters. If we are on our own without the Legion then we won't be able to keep the enemy from the Cathedral much longer... And if they manage to enter, we are in real trouble..."

Nodding the man raced off while the female runner stood put where she was, looking anxiously around. Blackthorn couldn't suppress a chuckle. "What are you waiting for," he said grinning, thumping over his shoulder. "Get your pelt into the fray."

The grin, she shot him, matched his own and with a feral howl she sprinted into battle.

Blackthorn could all too well understand her desire to fight with all force available against those undead soldiers. This at least was something no Forsaken would ever be capable off: passion that could only be granted by a beating heart. Oh, he wished he could join his men...

_Soon, boy_, he told himself soothingly while his eyes gazed over the great plaza which was swarmed by worgen and Forsaken alike, both fighting at their best, the Forsaken with tenacious discipline and the worgen with all ferocity and determination that was comparable to that of a she-wolf protecting her young.

_Soon you will be joining the pack... _His eyes caught another glimpse of the Forsaken Commander, seated on his warhorse. Smirking Blackthorn hoped that that man would join in soon, too... Somehow he had the impression that the High Executor would be forced to join his men the moment their plan would finally work...

* * *

><p>She could hear it, the song of battle. She heard the shouts of the Forsaken captains and the howls of the worgen, their angry snarls at each other, how their weapons screamed with every crash. Outside the forces of the Undercity, which had been sent to destroy a symbol of resistance, had succeeded in attaching the siege machines, sending the first warriors over the channel and the protective wall surrounding Gilneas City.<p>

Inside of the Cathedral another battle had just ended, six more corpses littered the ground of the hall in which people would normally come to seek forgiveness and redemption. Instead it had been chosen to serve as a tool against its people. In destroying it, their enemies wanted to destroy a peoples spirit.

_Strange idea_... Phin though while staring up at the high ceiling surrounded by the walls and its colorful windows. _To think a peoples spirit depends on a building. Although... its a nice one, I guess._

When the other assassins attacked her to avenge their comrade, Phin had freed herself off the tight ropes tied around her. The moments which followed where blurred pictures, blending into each other while ignoring the temporary order of events. She knew that her opponents had poisoned blades, she could not allow them to get close to her!

The Cathedral was somehow strange – since she woke up, she had wondered about the reason why the architect had installed two pools with water to both sides of the great hall. When the Deathstalkers attacked her, she blended out any reasoning – except some slight thanks to the Heavens for that gift of water. It was easier to manipulate ready existing water and using it to your advantage, than first creating and then using it. Every frost based mage would agree with that...

The first man was swallowed by a spectral dragon, shredded by its teeth made of chilling ice before it became liquid again. Phin used her hands to guide her spellcasting, created barriers to protect herself from those blades as she focused her enchanted water and ice to her next targets. – Those were the last real memories, the others included spears created out water and raw arcane energies, giant water-snakes and -dragons diving at her enemies and the shadowy silhouettes of the assassins.

She could not prevent being hit by them. A couple of nasty punches landed in her stomach, kidneys and shoulders, bringing her close to lose her balance. Yet she was thankful for all the aching, it kept reminding her that whatever things happened to her, she was still very much alive. _I can start worrying the moment I stop feeling anything_, she though in a short lived moment of clarity before she dove back into the magical fray, accepting her enemies fists and dagger hilts in her sides, just being thankful that she was able to keep standing on her feet all the while...

Yet in the end she gave in to the pain. Those she would have classified as her allies and friends this very morning, laid motionless around her, one of them pierced by a slowly melting ice spear against the opposite wall. Though free she still had the feeling of cutting rope biting into her flesh and her limbs felt heavy and tiered. Only in Icecrown she remembered of being as exhausted as she felt now... and back than she had helped to destroy the Lichking... well, he wasn't destroyed, just replaced. Anyway, right now she felt the same like back then...

_With one difference_, she thought, her breath slightly trembled. _I'm alone now. _Closing her eyes while pushing aside those thoughts, she turned her head looking around her, seeing the remains of the torn bodies of her opponents littering the ground and the previously killed worgen defenders. Did she feel sorry for those? - No, not really. Though only four of them violated her defenseless body, the others had stood idly by, not raising their voice or any finger in her favor or anything. No, she could not bring herself to pity them.

Yet there was something else, she couldn't stop wondering about: How had she been able to fend herself against these Deathstalkers? Over hours she had been bound like a package, only her fingers were able to actually move (if you would call flexing and relaxing a movement...). By any normal standards she shouldn't even been able to stretch her arms when she finally got rid of those ropes, at least not without a nice amount of pain... Yes, right, it was all very painful, and she felt hurt all over still.

_Well, its not like it had been a normal situation_, she mused, letting her eyes trace the wooden structure of the Hall. Looking up at the ceiling while lying on the ground it made the impression of endlessness... _I guess if you have the choice between dying painfully or fighting for your life with aching limbs..._

Her arms and wrists, her hands and fingers were throbbing fiercely, her legs felt like multiple broken sticks and her throat was still raw from her screams and sobs. Her upper body felt sore from countless punches, under her stiff bodice her skin was surely tinted in blue and purple and green. Phin came to be truly thankful for her gilnean clothes. The multiple layers and taut fabric had helped her to keep her balance since it had prevented her body to simply snap apart...

_Guess they don't need any education in tailoring... Why am I thinking that?_

Horacio would get suspicious if he didn't get any news from his agents...

Groaning she stemmed her aching body up, rolling sidewards she sat up with trembling arms. _Good thing that magic is normally not restricted by physical limits_, she thought while standing on shaky legs. But her dry throat told her, that without substance and something to drink her energies would not last for another fight... It must be close to sunset now, and the last time she had eaten something was in the early morning. Best thing to keep her head low for a while. If any worgen would see her wandering around, they would either kill her or... hand her over to their commander!

She shuddered violently. Even if what he did to her had not been as painful as what his men did, the mere thought of facing him again made her shiver, even if she would be unbound and collarless. She doubted that she would be able to cast any spell in his presence.

Not to mention the fact that she would have a hard time explaining just how twenty worgen soldiers had been killed. To say that it had been those assassins... who would believe her? Six shabby Deathstalkers just walking into the Cathedral, unseen by its outside guards, killing twenty worgen warriors stationed inside... Even though Deathstalkers were indeed infamous for their skill, to think that only six of them could take down those worgen was unbelievable – and if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't believe it, too...

_So best getting out of sight... _But with her legs back in business, where to go now?

* * *

><p>High Executor Amberton was pleased. Looking down at the battle unfolding before his eyes, he felt sure, that their emergency plan would work. It was risky to try the same approach a second time but with the siege machines and this large force the worgen defenders were bound to believe, that the Forsaken would try their hardest now to overtake the capital – not knowing that their agents were already in their midst.<p>

He would wait. The Dark Lady's orders were clear as usual: do whatever was needed to achieve their goal – but do so without unnecessary losses.

Yes, they would have losses, much more then he personally felt comfortable with, but in the end their reward would be worth it. Not long anymore and his Deathstalkers within the Cathedral would set the signal. That would be the moment of their triumph! High Executor Horacio Ambertons task would be fulfilled. He would return to his Lady, and the worgen would be nothing more than whining dogs.

This really was a good day.

* * *

><p>As time went by, more worgen joined the battle. They were just recently healed from the previous skirmish in the south and all to happy to rejoin the pack in the real fight. The news that the southern attack had just been a diversion, made them mad in rage, especially since they felt hurt in their pride to be tricked by their enemies... They were all to eager to make those bonebags pay...<p>

Blackthorn grinned in contentment. With every new worgen joining the battle he felt more proud of his comrades as their Commander then ever before. Now there was hardly anything those bonebags could do, except for running into their waiting blades and claws. At any moment now the required material would be ready, and the moment they would block the Cathedrals entrance there would be no other way in for the Forsaken – except the windows and Blackthorn had a hard time imagining the undead forces climbing them... especially since he and his men would just pick them off the walls. – The thought pictured in his mind made him snicker.

"Sir, we are ready to begin," someone yelled from the backyard where they had gathered all needed materials for their destructive plan. Never in the world would Blackthorn have thought that he would be the man to do any harm against the grand Cathedral of Gilneas, and the fact that the Forsaken themselves were to blame for this idea made the whole thing rather awkward, yet he did not wanted to think about it. War times often required extreme actions and if he could cross their enemies plans with this, then he would happily oblige.

"Good," he growled pleased, "get everything inside. Tell the guards inside they are to join the battle here. And tell them to hurry if they don't want to miss any more of the fun." Blackthorns frowned; he hadn't looked at the messenger, instead his eyes roamed the plaza before him, searching the battlefield for more clues about how to proceed further. "As for the prisoner," he went on in a more darkly expression, "I wand her to be replaced to the hospital in Greymane Court, at least four men are to watch over her and she is not to be left alone until I will continue the interrogation!" – Did he have to feel bad for his wife? – No, Martha would understand if he wanted to play with the half-bred... "Dismissed."

Only half aware did he listen to the tinkering and rummaging behind him. He had lost sight of the High Executor. Where was that guy? He couldn't be far away, only a few moments ago he had seen him just outside the skirts of the channels outside the cities walls –

Was it just fools luck or instinct but he flung himself sidewards, his mind blacking out for a moment. The dagger, that should have pierced his throat just above the plate of his armor flew past him, hitting a far stonewall. He could not say from where they came but all of a sudden three Death Guards where upon him at once, their blades crashing hungrily at him. How did they get so close to him? And more important, how could he and the other warriors have missed them?

Blackthorn pushed aside all thoughts anew, drawing his blade while he parried the first strikes with his plated gauntlets before his comrades rushed to his aid. Step here, slash there, and a twist – strike! One down, and countless more to go. It dawned to the Commander, that the Forsaken had obviously noticed their efforts to seal the Cathedral.

Snarling he dove at a Death Guard, his strong jaws closing over the unfortunate undeads face who's eyes widened in shock, and with a powerful jerk of his massive neck Blackthorn ripped off the head. "Protect the workers!" he barked when the next attackers drew back temporarily in horror at the sight of what just happened to their comrade. "Let nothing interfere with their task!"

It was obvious, the Forsaken had every intention to cross their plans... not that that was so surprising. - Blackthorn gave himself over to instinct and long years of experience, just as he always did in battle. Thoughts would only hinder him here, distract him while he fought for all their lives to see a new night... And by the way, what did a Forsaken fight for?

It would be an interesting thought to continue, yet the unnerving voice made his fur stand on its ends while his ears tingled. He was just barely able to suppress a surprised yelp while whirling around...

"My dear Commander," the foreign voice said. And were did it come from? "I am very sorry but I am running out of time here, so I hope you don't take this personally but I will kill you now."

Were did that bloody voice come from? – Blackthorn threw up his blade just in time again when another sword crashed down on him. He was used to spar with his comrades and other members of the Alliance, but never before had anyone strike him as hard as Sylvanas High Executor did. His whole body was shaking the moment the Forsaken hammered his own weapon against his, the sound of clashing metal screaming over the plaza. How could a reanimated corpse being able to wield so much power against a worgen?

Yet he did and Blackthorn swallowed, suddenly strangely intimidated by his undead counterpart. He had eagerly yearned for this meeting with the enemies Commander, and now he wasn't so sure anymore if that was such a good idea. Hell, this was no normal Forsaken at all! Not only the fact that this was not just a rotting carcass but the way in how he spoke, how he moved, the whole presence of this undead guy was... impressive. Normally meeting a Forsaken made you feel awkward, scared even. It was death incarnated; it was the blunt statement about how one would look like that after being buried into the earth and decaying in a moldy coffin. Except that these guys were rotting in open air for everyone to see. And it usually freaked the hell out of everyone, especially of other humans.

But not this man – yes, he really was still a man, not just a decaying mass. He looked very much like the man he used to be in life, but the fact that his bulk was not partially decayed made him even more creepy and diabolical than those others!

These thoughts flashed through Martin Blackthorns head, yet none of them stayed long, he was only focusing on surviving this battle. A few glances around him told him that the High Executor seemed to be a thorough man: he had taken about two dozen of his best Death Guards with him. Apparently he had guided them around the main battle to get here without much delay... How did he _do _that? It was getting on his nerves that this man seemed to be two steps ahead of him whenever he thought he could outmaneuver him... He very much reminded him of another man with that smart-ass streak...

Again Blackthorn did not linger with those distracting thoughts. This guy did not get into his position because of his looks but because of his skills and the longer he fought him the more the worgen found himself being impressed. – Breathing hard, Blackthorn parried a powerful blow, almost falling onto his knees. Obviously he lacked some sleep, he could barely keep himself on his feet...

It might have been out of exhaustion but Martin Blackthorn missed the confident smirk on his opponents face.

* * *

><p>Wait, this could not be right. Why did his chest hurt? Breathing became straining and his arms became heavier with each passing moment. His heart was thundering in his ribcage and his legs and feet did not react to his mental commands as they usually did. He could hardly hold his sword and attacking became an impossible odd. He could only parry and dodge his opponents weapon, but even standing back up again became straining...<p>

Blackthorns breath hitched when the moment of truth hit him: the High Executor had poisoned him!

The worgen stood shakily on his padded feet, claws digging into the floor while fighting for balance. His strength was leaving him, flowing out of him faster then he thought possible: the moment he realized that he somehow had been poisoned and he called for the healer, he realized that this poison somehow worked with delay. It infected a body, did nothing noticeable the first moments and then after a while stroke against the whole system at once!

_Clever filthy bas- _... Blackthorn blacked out again, shaking his head violently to clear his view only to realize that the High Executor stopped assaulting him. He could not prevent that smirk creeping on his face when he saw the same smirk fading on the Forsaken features while staring at the very angry worgen, who just entered the fray.

* * *

><p>Wallace had only a few moments to take in, what was happening down on the plaza.<p>

His fellow comrades did an excellent job down there defending the Cathedral. And his friends plan was about to take fruition. But why were those workers so excited? They were debating and gesturing wildly; blast, they had to hurry! And where was his friend anyway?

The moment he found him, his heart set out. On the one hand, he knew just what kind of agony Marty was living through this very moment and on the other he knew the man he was fighting against!

Rage was blazing within him, occupying his mind, his senses, his very existence. Howling his fury his dove down, he didn't need to ensure that others were following him, securing his flanks and back while he would plow their path free to save their falling pack leader. He didn't need to check on Martha, he knew that she was just on his heels, eager to save her husband. She knew what to do, he had told her before...

_Yes, now you're not so complacent anymore, now are you? You smug blasted bastard of that undead wench!_

"Surprised to see me, Master Horacio, are you not!"

He didn't need to ask, the Executors face said it all. Of all the events, he had not foreseen to meet one of his former victims again... one who should be by all standards dead!

Oh yes, poor Horacio really was surprised. And if there was anything the High Executor of the Lady Sylvanas hated, than to be surprised by anyone. Wallace almost felt sorry for him... if he hadn't tried to kill him and more importantly his mate. He would finish this quickly and would return to her, clearing all these stupid misunderstandings... Yes, it wasn't his brightest idea to join the battle earlier in the southern parts so soon, he had definitely overestimated himself...

But now, fixed and well again, he was more then capable to deal with this opponent, one he knew quite well. For example the little thorn thing, the Executor had clamped between his middle and index finger and which was laced in poison, poison the worgen could remember all to well. _Oh, Marty, why did you mess up with the only person on Azeroth's soil who could actually heal this poison?_

Not again, he would not let himself being fooled a second time. Dodging and parrying the strikes of the Executors off-hand, which held the poisonous thorn, he pushed his opponent further away from the center of interest. Out of his focus he saw his comrades fighting off the Death Guards, guiding them back to the main battle still warring in the center of the plaza. But why did those workers stop with their labor?

* * *

><p>Meanwhile the High Executor became enraged. Snarling commands at his men he put away the now useless thorn and grabbed his heavy sword with both hands. His strikes came faster and angrier now, he was now fighting to just kill this one worgen who somehow escaped death only mere days ago, a worgen who just should be dead. Yet he wasn't dead, he was alive, very much alive. Nothing pointed out any shortcomings, which could tell about injuries or what-so-ever. It was like déjàvu, just that the worgen knew about their inconspicuous sting, and how it worked.<p>

It was a simple weapon, by any standards it wasn't even a weapon at all, just... a mere sting. A deadly sting, though, it's poison strong enough to kill about a hundred men with just a single thorn. It was small, almost invisible and even a sensible worgen did not notice when he got injected by the toxin. Just as it should be. They continued to fight with all fierce and pride, but did not realize that every move just hastened the spreading of the deadly poison – until it was too late and they just died within a few minutes. And healers had to wait at the sideline, their powers useless altogether.

It was a brilliant invention of the apothecaries, flawless. But now it was nothing but another weapon known by their enemy and they had to find new ones... That was of course if this worgen was the only one who knew about it. The High Executor was aiming for that last little chance, that the Duke had not shared his experience with others. The question how he had survived though...

"You should be dead," Horacio snarled, while their blades where screaming. His men had their orders. The moment he had seen those worgen workers rummaging at the Cathedral he knew that his Deathstalkers had failed and that he would deal with this on his own. Now he had another matter at hand. By the Dark Lady, he would find the answers and the open ends. Then he would join the others...

The worgen Duke was just smirking. "A little bird kicked me back into the living world," he said smugly.

Raging the Executor did not need to ask anything more; he already knew what kind of a bird the worgen was talking about, a bird with very long pointy ears. How that could have happened, how she could have betrayed the whole Horde, was beyond him. But it did not matter anymore.

Horacio became rampant, clashing his sword blindly, trying to find any opening in his opponents defense. "Guards, to me!" he shouted, using the jagged language the Forsaken had invented themselves. He'd be damned if he would fail now! "Bring these dogs down and bring me that elf! And kill those workers! We can't let them seal off the Cathedral!" Oh no, she would not just die. After allying herself openly against the Banshee Queen and now sabotaging all their previous planning... The Dark Lady would agree with him: Just dying was an inappropriate punishment! She would suffer greatly for this!

* * *

><p>Wallace meanwhile didn't understood his opponents orders, but given their situation and his expression it was rather plain what the High Executor wanted. And that he was pretty much out of normal shape. The worgen felt almost delighted to mess up with him; it made this fight all the better to know that whatever happened did not bode well for their enemies...<p>

Barking new orders to his comrades they managed to push the assailants back into the main fray, where they joined the grand crowd. Normally he would prefer to finish off his opponent as fast as possible, especially this one, but he had more important matters to tent to...

Ensuring that his comrades were informed about the thorn, he slowly backed away from the High Executor, nodding to those warriors who took over for him. They would keep Horacio busy while he would check back at the Cathedral. He recognized many them as those men who had been healed back with him in the hospital. Wallace congratulated himself for his quick decision to give these few worgen a quick briefing about what to expect here. Now they knew about the thorns and what to look for and they would make sure the other would be informed as well. After a short pondering he had also shared that part of his story, which included the elf. In case they would see her, they wouldn't downright kill her anymore...

A small part of him was awkward about sharing this tale, but afterwarts he felt reassured. The pack-spirit truly was an extraordinary thing: his comrades trusted his ordeal without question. They knew him and that he would not think the way he did if he would not believe in what he told them... Yes, that pack-thing made things a lot less complicated. Unlike normal humans and other races, worgen did not ask useless questions, they just _knew_, they trusted their instinct. And it told them, that he was sane and that his story was the truth. It also helped saving time.

And yet there were those among them who did not share the pack-spirit... _And we will deal with those false worgen soon enough_, Wallace though grimly while approaching the Cathedral. A small space next to the entrance had been changed into a little hospital wing, a dozen worgen laid there, unmoving yet alive. Good. A familiar figure sat on low steps, exhausted not only from too many injured patients...

Kneeling next to Martha he touched her shoulder. "How is he?"

Breathing hard, she suppressed a sob. "It's just like you said it would be," she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "But it's hart to keep in mind..."

"Did you sent him into hibernation?" he asked urgently.

"Yes," she said, wiping her face with her sleeve to gain some composure back. "Yes, don't worry, I did what you said. The poison withstood any of my attempts to cure it anyway, so..."

Wallace exhaled, just realizing now that he had held his breath. It was understandable that Martha, just like any other healer, would try her utmost to save and heal somebody, especially someone she held so dear. That this poison just ignored all their attempts to shoo it away was irritating at best. But in the end she had accepted his advice and sent Marty into a deep sleep. That should prevent the poison to spread any further for now, and another blessing would keep the heart from failing.

From what he could see, there were a couple more worgen poisoned by those mean stings. And even those who didn't feel the crippling weakness and pain were sent into hibernation, too. Yet, the most important link still missed... Where was his elf? Without her all these men were lost... And why the hell didn't those workers get to work?

Straightening up again, Wallace rushed for the entrance of the Cathedral where the carpenters and other workers were discussing wildly.

"What is going on here?" he bellowed, the other men slightly flinching by hearing his booming voice. "Why haven't you started your work already? We don't have time..."

"Duke Wallace, so good somebody is finally here!" an old man interrupted him and hurried up to the entrance. "The Commander is incapacitated and all the other captains are out there fighting, we couldn't yet report this to anyone. Quickly, you have to see for yourself..."

Suspicious Wallace followed, but not before ordering, "Anyway, get that stuff ready, we won't be able to keep them off much longer."

But the moment he entered the Cathedrals wide hall, he gasped in shock.

Yes, he had somehow expected that things would not work out as smooth as he had planed, but this? No, he would have never thought about this possibility! - He counted four, five, six Forsaken bodies, all broken and torn by some invisible force. And all his comrades, who were stationed inside the Cathedral to prevent any intruder to take control over the explosives, all of them where dead! And the elf? - Gone.

* * *

><p>You know, it's funny how fast you can write while on holiday... Since I'm back home since two weeks, it's harder to find free time and some good ideas to get finished with this...<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter17**

He just ran away! That gutless dog just _ran away_!

Horacio couldn't believe it! He had been confident that the Duke would at least stay long enough for him to overwhelm the rogue for good; one less worgen to deal with in the future... But that cowardly dog ran off! So much about honor. And yet the Executor nodded silently in approval. Honor was a nice thing to have, but it was useless when it came to more important matters like winning a battle or simply surviving.

Duke Wallace seemed to be aware of that and left his pray to his comrades to gain the Forsaken's head, almost generously forgoing to kill the big prize himself.

Amberton smirked, beheading casually his current opponent. Good, that left another match with Duke Wallace in the near future. First of all he had to lead his men back to that Cathedral.

It would probably end in their deaths, and every single one of them knew it. Horacio couldn't mind any less. Even though the Dark Lady became much more caring for her subjects than she used to before the fall of the Lichking, it didn't change anything about the Forsaken's wish to do anything for their Queen, and dying was no exception. One could say this attitude had something to do with Garrosh' constant babbling about honor and honorable death in battle and so on. However, whatever it was, that fulled the undead army this day, every single one did not care about the consequences as long as they would be victorious.

As for Horacio, somehow he was looking forwards to his second death. Now he wasn't as scared as he had been that first time many years ago. He did remember being afraid back then, yet not the process of dying itself... How did one die?

"Press forward!" he roared. "And make your peace," he added silently. He would find out – again.

* * *

><p>So many scents, so much disaster... Yes, this really was a mess.<p>

Gharion Wallace stood in the middle of the Cathedral, surrounded by the dead bodies of his comrades and their murderers. From a former battle in this hall, it's furniture was broken and tapestries torn. Of the colorful and bright windows, once the pride of this otherwise rather dull building, many broken, yet in the dying light of dawn they shone in their numerous varieties. The floor was soaking wet and some deeper ponds occurred at some spots as if a big wave had washed through the hall.

He saw it, yet he could not believe it. Worgen where fierce warriors, strong and fast with sharp senses unrivaled by any other race. One worgen in battle could easily count for two men, and a properly trained one even for three. One worgen could easily turn the tide of battle all on his own, and now twenty of them were slain. Not slain by an army, no, but by six Deathstalkers!

The evidence was clear, but that did not make it any more believable... From what he saw it seemed that the worgen had guarded the Cathedral from within as ordered by Blackthorn, then these Deathstalkers came in, practically descending on them. They killed the Gilneans and then...

These Forsaken really were scary. They came in, killed their target with a few precise strikes and went to the next and so on. It seemed that the Forsaken had somehow adapted to their physically stronger enemies, preparing themselves to be just perfectly arranged to fight them. - _Well done_.

Yet the Deathstalkers were not prepared to face the threat that had finished them in the end. And that was something he could not grasp himself. Eying the ponds of water and wet walls and furniture, he knew that those Forsaken were not torn and pierced by any mortal weapons. A feint smile crept over the Dukes face. Yes, he had never seen his little bird perform any offensive magic, in fact he had no real idea of what she was capable of at all. Yet he knew about her wards, about her experiments within the arcane arts. And he knew that only very few advanced sorcerers took the risk and liberty to research beyond the known borders of their craft.

And now it seemed, his elf was able to take down six Deathstalkers, who just previously killed twenty worgen. Hard to believe. Yet, evidence didn't lie.

When a silvery glint caught his eye, Wallace knelt down on the carpet and took up a silver metal ring. A collar, a so called 'Magebane' as he discovered in wonder, it's breach adorned with a little skull icon – it belonged to the Undercity. So she had worn a magic-blocking devise around her neck? But how did she get it off then? - Turning it in his hands, he did not find any traces that the ring had been taken off by force, the breach was simply opened... Opened probably by magic, if he construed the lose ropes next to the silver collar right.

Taking them up he sniffled, not surprised to find his elves scent on them. But there was no sign that they were cut or torn, they were simply undone, like the collar had been... Strange, normally a bound and prone mage could not perform magic because they often needed their hands to guide their spells. Gharion knew only very few mages who could cast their magic without gestures or grand waves with their arms and staves. Yet even they would be tamed with a Magebane around their necks...

So how had his elf freed herself? Hardly the Forsaken had freed her, since they had set her prisoner in the first place, and it could be possible that they knew one or two things about her personally to judge her abilities – why else would they bother to attach the collar in the first place then? So, as hard to believe as it was, it seemed she had taken the collar and the ropes off herself... And speaking of which: If she was able to free herself, why hadn't she done so earlier instead of just calling for them? And why not before she was...? Before they...

Gharions mood darkened further, he felt the reins of control being close to snap. Was it his imagination or did everything just turn red?

Yes, he had smelled... _it_, smelled it the moment he entered the great hall of the Cathedral, yet he did not want to believe it. It mingled with the scent of blood strained worgen and the gore of torn Forsaken, and in between the wavering flowery scent of his elf, which was like a silken thread through the air, a scent he came to know these last weeks... And then the lingering, heavy stench of sexual abuse. A gut wrenching stench by which he felt his insides churn.

Glaring at the altar he barely had the strength left to remain on his feet when he stood up again. Seeing the darkened spots of blood and semen on the ground, he snarled, his rage rising to new highs. How did they _dare _to do this? To _his _elf, in this place of all places?

It was rage directed inwards, guilt burning his insides and smoldering his soul. It was not aimed against his dying friend, who was part of this according to the smells around the wooden structure, not even against those men, who surely had their fair share in harming his elf. No, he was raging against himself, because he had been unable to protect her as he had promised. He had promised, that no harm would come to her, that he would get her safely in and out of this damned city...

He had failed. Would she ever forgive him? Would he ever see her again? Where was she? Where did she go after this? Was she still alive? -

* * *

><p>"<em>Duke Wallace!<em>"

The cry from the entrance tore him away from the gloomy shroud that had covered his mind and senses, bringing him back into present time.

Whirling around, he straightened up. Apparently he looked truly mad, the messenger backed off the moment the Duke regarded him, shrinking under the piercing glare of those golden eyes.

"What – is – it?" Gharion pressed through clenched fangs.

Swallowing, the poor messenger suppressed a yelp. It was largely known that Duke Wallace never lost his temper, _never_. Even if he was upset he never lost his composure. Well, it seemed he just never had been really angry before, because now he was! And it was no pleasant sight at all...

"They are advancing again, my Lord," the messenger said after a moment to regain his voice again. "The Forsaken. Missus Blackthorn is already replacing the hospital wing..."

"What about the carpenters?" Gharion cut in. "Why aren't they finished already?" It was not like these were new orders! They should have been done with this task hours ago!

"They are almost done, Sir." The messenger was openly cringing now under that glare.

So it was time to leave any thoughts behind and get back to battle. Horacio was still out there; not that it was of any importance, this unfinished business could stay unfinished. He couldn't care any less. - Frowning he turned back to the altar. And then there was that other business. How did she leave? She had not used the great entrance, even if she would slink into invisibility other mages stationed near to the Cathedrals exit would have sensed her, and surely she would be aware of that... But there were no other ways out.

"Tell the carpenters to get finished," he said curtly after a moment. "Use a whip, if it helps, but get them to bloody work! I'll join the others again in the field..." If the Forsaken were approaching again, then probably to finish their mission at all costs – which meant they would freely accept to get blown up by their own explosives. Well, at least he could release some stress to clear his head again.

"And summon the captains," he ordered after another moment. "We have to arrange the defenses – _now_!" Did he have any authority over those captains? Officially not, but since Blackthorn was out of order somebody had to take over and nothing pointed out that any of the other commanders had bothered themselves with any coordination or planning so far – a deadly flaw, if they wanted to stop the Forsaken to yet accomplish their devious plan.

* * *

><p>The briefing was short and the captains indeed didn't question him, maybe also due to the fact that his expression simply said, "Try anything and I'll personally <em>gut <em>you!". He was well aware though, that any questions were just saved for later hours when this crisis would be done with...

_Yes, if we life through this to get there..._ Gharion thought darkly, while re-poisoning his blades. However, he couldn't bring himself to care. His mind was filled with those dark spots on the ground before the altar and the knowledge of what had happened there mere moments ago...

The plan was no real plan at all: Kill any enemy within reach, regain as much ground as possible, and protect your comrades next to you. Most importantly, look out for any kinds of hidden stings or thorns, and if you get hit by any of those, get your ass to the healers! They would form their forces like a wedge, which pushed into the enemies ranks, dividing them. Their first priority was not victory over this army but to buy as much time as needed for the carpenters. Hopefully sealing the Cathedrals gates would demoralize the Forsaken and they would retreat on their own. - Gharion was confident that the undead had no reasons to stay and fight if their target would be out of reach. They didn't have the numbers and equipment to take over the whole city...

None of the captains interrupted him during his speech, yet, just as expected, the information about the poisonous sting was hard to believe for them. How could a simple sting kill a fully grown worgen? - Under his unyielding glare they agreed to give their men the order of immediate retreat if they should get in touch with those, but Gharion already knew that only a few of those injured by the thorns would take the order by heart – it was just too hard to believe...

_Just as hard to believe, that six Deathstalkers can kill twenty worgen... or a single blood elf killing six Deathstalkers... and surviving it._ - He shut his eyes tightly. He didn't know if she was still alive. Yes, he just guessed it, since there were no traces of blood of her from the battle, yet guessing was not _knowing_... He growled. Oh, there was plenty of her blood near the altar... What did those _curs _think by doing that? Raping a prisoner in their respected Cathedral, had they lost their minds? - Well, at least he did not have to bother himself with justice in this: everyone involved was dead now... But he would have to figure out which role his friend had played in this: Blackthorns scent had been there, too... and much too close for comfort.

Burying his blade deep into the armored chest of his current opponent, Gharion did not watch his foe falling to the unyielding ground but turned to the next. The Forsaken had indeed abandoned any kind of cautiousness and their usual tranquility; they had turned into a frenzy not to be expected from animated corpses, and in their glowing eyes was a determination he had only seen once in a while in his elves eyes...

That was only fine by him. They wouldn't try and run the moment he would come for them, then.

He hadn't seen Horacio yet. The High Executor was like an eel: hart to grasp and even harder to get. Gharion knew that much about his counterpart, and he almost admired the Forsaken for his ability to adapt, no matter that he was an undead...

Already back in Blackwald he had realized, that he was about to know a very special specimen from the Undercity. When his unit was attacked, Gharion was stunned, for the first time in his life something happened that he hadn't anticipated beforehand. He was a controlling character; he took risks, yes, if needed he also did foolhardy things to achieve his goals, even if it would cost him his life and well-being. But he always knew what to expect and on which to count on. He was well aware of the element of coincidence in everything that happened, but he was skilled in including even that. And he never was wrong in his calculations...

But two weeks ago he had been terribly wrong!

He was never on the same trail, never patrolled in a regular fashion. He also never told anybody where he would be during those tours, only his own men assigned to him were informed a few hours beforehand. But nevertheless, someone (probably one of _them_) had slipped the information where he would be found that night.

The first moments of surprise went by before he snapped back to his senses, fighting for his life and the lives of his comrades. Distracting questions were pushed aside, questions like, why were they after him? Was it him, who was their primary target anyway? Was this some campaign of revenge? Was it part of just a bigger plan? - And then the High Executor came, greeting him like an old friend, and somehow he knew he would die. It was not the deadly skill of his opponent that unsettled him, but the dark confidence which radiated from him. Even while the worgen was winning ground, the Forsaken did not hurry his efforts or was doing anything unusual. It was almost like some kind of sparring session during exercise...

Until the moment he realized that something had chanced. He felt tiered for the first time, his arms and legs became heavy as if weights were tied on them, his orientation and balance became unstable and even his eyesight started to trail out of focus occasionally. But he hadn't been poisoned, he thought – yet he was! How could he, a rogue of all things, get himself poisoned without realizing it?

The satisfied expression of his opponent did not escape him. He so wanted to wipe it off the blueish face of the High Executor, who just dodged his slowing strikes easily, nobody else interfered in their fight, which turned out to be settled even before it had started. - It didn't take long until he couldn't lift his blades anymore. Finally admitting his failure, he stopped his useless struggle and focused on simply standing on his feet, on his fading balance. His limps were shaking and while glaring at his mockingly smiling opponent he witnessed, how his life was slowly drained from his body and soul...

Yet the deadly blow did not come. The Forsaken left the crime scene without killing their target. Were they running late? Did he at least last long enough to cross them a little bit? - With the certainty that his death was only moments away, he watched the undead retreat before his aching limps gave way and he finally fell, bedded on the countless corpses of those enemies he was able to kill before.

His body stood afire by now, every single fiber of his convulsing body screamed in excruciating agony. He saw the raindrops falling down on him, yet the cold wetness did not ease his pain until his mind managed to slip away from this realm of misery.

Yet the questions remained. Who had betrayed him, _them_? How could a worgen master the abysmal falsity to betray his pack? And why did they aim for him of all people? Yes, he was related to the gilnean king, but never though anything about it, except that due to that many other worgen treated him as is he would be his uncles deputy – which he wasn't. His relationship with Genn was troubled at best. If he would die, the king and his family would mourn him, yes, but nothing else. And he did not have any power within the Alliance politics; he was a rogue, a bloody good one, and a good leader and tactician. But there were other men with the same qualities – and less querulent ones than him.

Anyway, his planned murder did not seem to have anything to do with his family business (which was a mess...), but with his position within the gilnean forces... - Those were the last coherent thoughts before he drifted off into soothing yet so unsatisfying blackness.

He wasn't dead though as his enemies had anticipated and as he expected. - Blast, when did this bloody corpse die? Ah, finally. Where was the next one? - He had woke up again, and his speculations went on: If it had something to do with his position as high ranking leader in the southern provinces, than it was possible that the ambush was part of a bigger plan... However, sickness and at the mercy of a blood elf (a _blood elf _of all races!) he couldn't think of any plan. The south in general was of no interest for the Horde since the 7th Legion patrolled the coastlines with their submarines. They sent spies down there, yes, but none of them ever made it back. There was no raw material there or any other tactical worthwhile location... Except maybe the tree Tal'doren, but it was just a tree nonetheless.

Until this very morning he had no idea why he was targeted by the Forsaken, until the first explosions tore through Gilneas City and he saw smoke rising to the skies.

That moment all his guesses fell into place, there were no questions left, only the yielding desire to make those undead pay, to cross their plans and make good for almost dying and then hiding in Stormglen with the elf...

The elf.

Her pale face filled his inner eye, surrounded by her wavy dark hair. It was a strange color, not black but too dark to be brown. She had become a part of him before he realized it, and his instinct, not his smart brains, told him that he too was a part of her. Just because she had taken him in, because they had shared a few days with each other alone in a small secluded space, unable to avoid each other, forced to rethink. He had to accept the possibility that this elf just helped him because she _wanted _to, and that she had no part in whatever plans of the Forsaken. In the beginning he wanted to interrogate her as soon as his strength would return, but not only her reluctant confession that she would be sentenced to death if any Horde would find out about them, started to make him change his mind...

And it didn't took more then a few hours after that for him take their relationship as nurse and patient to another level. She had changed him, and he hadn't realized it.

Until that night, when he was as close to death as never before in his life, he would have killed any blood elf anywhere without even thinking. They were the closest allies of the Forsaken and their cruelty was legend. Even within the Horde the blood elves had no good reputation as former deserters of the Alliance and magic-addicts. And now, after meeting this one elf he just couldn't kill right away, his whole view changed. And much more.

He could still feel her delicate frame pressed against him after their short swim through the channel, how miserable she was like a soaked kitten. He had felt the urge to protect her even if that meant to fight his pack! - The moment he thought that, he immediately questioned his own sanity. While looking for dry clothes in the armory he was re-arguing with himself. What did he want with the elf? No worgen with his mind set right would accept a blood elf in their city. They would downright declare him insane or bewitched and unable to judge for himself.

Snarling, Gharion jumped upon the next target in sudden rage. Driving both blades deep into his enemy and spreading them like a scissor, the Forsaken fell with a pitiful gurgle to the ground, his torso almost sliced in two. _And they would make her responsible for it, _he thought grimly. A blood elf selflessly helping a worgen, ever heard that one?

So he had to get her out of the city as fast as possible without anyone knowing about her, and while they silently crept through the narrow passages of the city, he scanned his brain for any idea how to achieve this. And how to return to his pack, only to tell them that he was alive and that there were worgen-spies among them, that the Forsaken where up to something. He did not wanted to stay long with them, only two days, maybe three. Then he would come up with something to leave and he would follow her to what ever save place she would hide herself.

However, things went different again. The city was under siege, yet the good thing was that he finally knew what to do with his elf: With all defenses concentrated in another district of the city she could simply leave to the east. He knew about the little shack from the summer holidays with his family many years ago, he knew she would be save there. The shack was build in an alcove between the cliffs and barely to be seen from the see or from the inner land. She would hide there with her wards, invisible and save. And he would find her there and they would try to find a solution to their situation together.

But she hadn't left. Instead... yes, maybe she had guessed something herself. As an official ally of the Forsaken, who had lived among them many years, she probably knew these people better than anyone else in this city. Maybe she got suspicious and wanted to investigate herself; she was curious in nature, that much he knew. And then she must have gotten herself caught by the Forsaken. But she managed to warn the Gilneans, he had heard her urgent call about the explosives in the Cathedral. The first thing he wanted, was to sprint there and check if it was really true, that she was still in the city, trapped somewhere...

But he was severely injured. During the first fights after departing he had clearly overestimated his own strength. In his already weakened state, with the smoke and all, only his rage and spirit had fulled him on to finish off as many enemies as possible, completely ignoring the fact that his shoulder was incapacitated. Yet it came to a high cost and as soon as the first battles where over he realized that he might have pushed his body beyond it's limits... As much as he wanted to he was in no state to look for her.

But Martin Blackthorn, a friend from his days during the civil war, went off to check things with the Cathedral. And from then on things got all wrong. How could he have shared with his friend, that the elf, who had sent the message, was on their side? That she was trustworthy, that she was a friend... Blackthorn hated blood elves just like any worgen did, just as much as they hated the Forsaken, maybe even more so since the elves were traitors to the Alliance and the Banshee Queen had been an elf in life...

He could only guess what Marty and his men did to her – unfortunately his guesses had the habit to turn out to be the truth... How much did he hope to be wrong this time, yet he knew already that the truth would be even worse than anything he so far thought. Would it be surprising if she had already left the city? Running from those beasts who had inflicted such unspeakable humiliation and agony to her?. Yes, by now it was possible that she was already gone. She had survived the fight against the Deathstalkers, and in a rather remarkable state since she hadn't lost any blood due to them – most of her blood she had lost due to her rapists –

Gharion snarled. The very thought of what had happened in the Cathedral, done by his own pack-brothers, made his blood boil. He was thankful to any Forsaken, who found his way in reach of his blades. Fighting them gave him the opportunity to release some of his burning mindless fury. He imagined every opponent to be one of the rapists of his elf and how he would make him pay in the most cruel and painful manner he could think of.

It helped to direct his anger. Who cared about the High Executor? He didn't care if that guy would return to his Queen or not, what he would report to her, that they could come up with another plan to strike against the worgen and Gilneas and the Alliance. Who cared about them anyway? Not him, no sir! He had to think... he had to find his elf. And to do that, he had to get rid of this blasted undead army. He would kill some of those bloody carpenters as soon as the entrance was sealed. No way that they took _that _long to just close a door!

* * *

><p>History shows that those armies, who fought with conviction rather than duty, were in general the most successful ones. If a soldier believed in the cause he was fighting for, there was no power in the world to stop him. Also those armies, with their generals fighting in the front rows, had a rather remarkable success rate...<p>

In Gilneas City, two small armies clashed against each other, and both of them carried their hearts on their blades, their leaders fighting alongside lowly foot soldiers. The Forsaken fought with determination, to achieve their victory with this final almost desperate push to crush their bestial enemies. And the worgen with an equally desperate attempt to stem this undead tide to save their city, to save this symbol of hope. Every single warrior on the plaza felt his limps burning, from strain and not from poison. Exhausted they kept fighting, not wanting to lose even an inch of ground so heavily payed for by blood and toil.

Yet, the moment one last explosion tore through the air, followed by bursting stone and splinting wood each and every one of them knew: it was over.

* * *

><p>I do think, he tends to overthink things...<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

Some things just take their time... Stupid thesis -.- It keeps distracting me from writing here... Or should I say, Phin and her wolfy are distracting me from finishing my exams? - I guess it depends on your point of view.

Anyway, next chapter is up and I hope you enjoy :)

Find any errors in spelling, grammar and so on... well, keep them :P

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter18<strong>

Freezing cold. Oh, she was so cold. Never in her live had she been so cold. Chilling ice crept into her flesh, biting her bones, clinging to her like a gigantic hand, chocking her.

_I'm not made for the cold_, Phin thought, tumbling against a wall. The clothes were sticking to her, fighting every move. Those many layers and the stiff bodice, which had been so helpful during her battle against the Deathstalkers, were working against her now. Soaked with chilling cold water they were heavier than in a dry state, and exhausted as she was she could barely stand upright.

As soon as she was inside, her stiff fingers pulled against the fabrics. The heavy mantle fell easily off her shaking shoulders, the robe with its many layers was more complicated. It was hart to tell where those layers were sewn together or if she just didn't find the clasps. Knifes... there were some knifes around here.

Tumbling again she made her way to the narrow staircase, there was a merry fire crackling downstairs. She tumbled over those warring skirts, falling again. Crying, yet her voice could not vocalize anymore, she fell down the stairs, her arms desperately protecting her head and neck. Thank the heavens, the stair wasn't so deep. But it did not prevent her from aching all over again. Why did all this had to happen to her? - Groaning she rolled onto her back, breathing hart. At least she was alone... a small favor of fate... or how ever you would call it...

After her dive into the freezing channel waters, the almost constant hurt in her nether region reduced to a persistent yet painless throbbing, something the chill had been good for after all... She dismissed any thoughts about her wounds getting infections by the waters... _First I have to get out of these clothes..._

Groaning another time, she stemmed her body off the ground, her legs and arms protesting against the strain. There they were, numerous daggers, swords and all kinds of blade weapons imaginable, hanging down the walls surrounding her. At least one of them should be sharp enough for her to cut away that stupid robe.

Spells swarmed her head, charms to dry her clothes, altering them magically into a new shape... yet her clattering teeth and shaking hands were mocking any of her attempts to reach into the ley lines. Her mind was occupied by pictures of ripping claws and howling cruel laughter – no way she could master the focus to cast a minor spell, not to mention the fact that she was simply exhausted, drained.

The blade of her choice was short and broad – or was is just a throwing knife? Who cares, it was sharp... Fumbling at the clothes she cut blindly into them, the tearing sound satisfying in her ears. And hey, those weren't even her robes anyway, now were they? However, there were also those sweet memories about them, about how firm yet tender hands had wrapped her up into them, like some complicated present... hands with sharp claws.

Swallowing she shut her eyes, halting her labor for a moment. Uncontrollable shivers went up and down her spine, this time not caused by the cold. Claws... Claws raking her skin, claws tearing open her skin... tearing open her insides... and pain searing upwards from her core, spreading to occupy the rest of her aching body... She still felt those talons on her – couldn't they just leave her alone? - She bit her lip, pressing her palms to her forehead. After what they did... why did she still feel them?

A tiny voice tried to sooth her, saying that the pain would eventually pass, that this was just some phantom-afterwards-feeling that would be over in time... Yet it couldn't tell how long that would be...

Ah, finally. The last peace of soaking wet fabric was off of her, dropping to the ground with a soppy splash. Rubbing her numb skin she tumbled in front of the merry fire, glaring at it since it was oblivious to her misery... The blanked was still on the ground where they had left it, he hadn't burned it... had he just forget it due to their haste? - Maybe, even her wolf didn't seem flawless, even if he made the impression that he was...

_Come on, girl_, the grumpy off-voice snarled, _if he would have been flawless he wouldn't be defeated by Forsaken weeks ago_... She frowned. _And he would probably killed you at first chance._

Yes, that at least those... those guards had made clear: her status in this country. She was an enemy, and had to expect to be treated like one! - With still shaking hands she wound the slightly damp and rough blanket around her quivering form before sitting down right in front of the fire, stretching her toes as close as possible without getting them burned. Slowly some sense came back to her body...

So, yes, her treatment hadn't even been so cruel, had it? She had often enough heard stories of drunk Horde warriors about the one or other Alliance girl they came across, be it on the battlefield, after battle or just by coincidence somewhere in the wild. Truth be told, Phin had never really taken these stories much into account. However, today they became a whole new dimension – and it made her shiver all over again.

What should she do now? Was he alive? Would he even protect her if he was? After all, they had more or less agreed that she would leave the city to the coast... What would he think if he heard that she had stayed and had contact to the Forsaken? Would he think, she would have tried to return to the Horde forces? - Possible. Save to assume, that he would expect the worse since she _was _a blood elf, even if she was one with a questionable sense of honor, who had a just as strange definition of duty...

What to do?

Should she try and leave the city? How? She had no gear, no clothes. Could she create some? Well, she had to, anyway, as soon as her strength would return; she still felt drained though. Now after all the fighting it should be more or less save to use some magic – downside was that creating non-existent material out of the nethers was an exhausting business and nothing she could afford right now. The battle inside the Cathedral had been worse than she thought... yet she had survived it, and she still wondered about that...

Just as she wondered about the almost insolent amount of luck she was provided with this day... if you would just negated the things which happened before the fight... those... _things_. Again she felt her insides down there clench in repulsion. _No, I'm not thinking about that now!_

She had not only survived and beaten those Deathstalkers, she had also managed to get out of the Cathedral undetected! It got her wet and soaked and freezing, but alive and more or less well, too. _I'm alive... alive for another night._

She was starving. Her last meal had been this morning; it seemed ages ago. Thinking about the strangeness of time she drifted off into dark dreams, sinking deeper and beyond those nightmarish claws and howls... Just a little nap... to regain her powers... and then... she would find a way... somehow... anyhow...

* * *

><p>"Get her to the others in the cellar," Missus Blackthorn ordered. "There must be a free cot to the left." She turned away from yet another worried husband or wife, father or mother, son or daughter, to tent to those she could actually heal. Despite the Dukes warnings about the evil thorns, too many warriors got poisoned by them and were beyond her ability to heal them. They had tried anything to cure it, yet any prayer or calling was for naught, the poison just ignoring their every attempt to heal it.<p>

By now surely a fifth of all the cities defenders were incapacitated, and the only thing that seemed to help was hibernation! Normally it was a useful spell while in combat with some beasts, every druid had learned it. But now they used it to sent their own comrades into deep sleep – maybe never to wake up again.

Looking over her shoulder, Martha Blackthorn stared at the man, who knew so much about this poisonous evil that had invested their brothers and sisters, yet he seemed to be just as powerless as they all where. However, his advice with the hibernation had been vital for the healers so far.

But since things didn't change, it was rather obvious that this deep sleep did little more than delaying the inevitable. Though the alchemists did their utmost to find a solution to this mess, it looked like this was beyond their skill: if there was anything, in which the Forsaken would surpass their living counterparts, then it was the creation of potions... no matter the purpose. And even if she hated them with a zeal just as fierce as with any other worgen, Martha Blackthorn found herself impressed by the Apothecaries of the Undercity time and time again.

_Credit were it's due_, she thought darkly.

* * *

><p>Gharion Wallace was staring outside an unbroken window. It had cleared outside and there were big patches of starlit sky between the heavy clouds. His calculations had been right again: as soon as the Cathedral was finally sealed off, the Forsaken retreated. And not a moment to soon. Only a few minutes longer and the poison and undeads relentless assault would have overwhelmed the defenders, simply washing over them like a merciless tide.<p>

He knew, Martha was staring at him, everyone was staring at him. The 'Protector of the South' had returned the moment the enemy launched their big attack, almost fooling the defenders with a fake-assault. And then the Duke came, healed and in the prime of his life, blasting the bones out of any undead stupid enough to get into his range, and they had succeeded in protecting their capital.

He snorted. Lucky them, they had no idea. This battle might be over, but the Forsaken would return, and next time their plan wouldn't be stopped by simply shutting down some doors... At least the carpenters did a good job in this, they managed to let the Cathedrals gates collapse without causing any destabilization to the rest of the building. That had been his and all the others worry, that a sealing-off of the entrance by explosives would have a negative effect on the Forsaken's bombs in the back of the hall.

By now that threat was dealt with. After the Forsaken's retreat they sent more workers through the already broken windows into the Cathedral to retrieve the bombs and bring them somewhere else save. If those would be normal explosives, they could be put to good use later... Until that they had to gather up their fallen comrades, burn the unholy remains of their enemies and tend to their wounded. And then there was at least half of those wounded, who were sleeping now while waiting for some kind of miracle. A miracle everybody seemed to expect from _him_!

Bad thing that he was not the one capable of the miracle needed, that was someone else – and that someone could be off and away if she was smart...

That was what he would do at least... and than again, his guesses had a couple of dark spots; for example, which state was she in after leaving the Cathedral? And how did she leave? Bloodloss did not say much about somebodies current well-being. She could have some broken bones, or even internal bleeding... How would he know? He only knew that his elf was the only hope his poisoned comrades had – and unfortunately their own pack-brothers had spoiled any good-will she might have had after these weeks.

In case he would find her (wherever she was) he already agreed with himself that he wouldn't push her if she would downright refuse to lent her aid in this. However, he had to find her first. He had skipped his brain repeatedly these past hours but hadn't come up with any suitable answer about her location...

If she was smart, she would have left the city by now. Maybe to the east as he told her previously, maybe north to the closest border to teleport to safety... She could also hide in a random house, warding it with her charms to recover on her own before she would make her way to safety. Highly possible that she would try to get to Orgrimmar... After all she was here because of an assignment commissioned by Hellscream.

He had to find her before she could leave Gilneas, before she would pass the border and perform a teleport spell. In any case he would send other mages after her, along with some trackers. These mages were at least able to sense her if she should be invisible...

However, there were still other possibilities. She could be lying dead in an alley way, or she might have hidden in a house somewhere in the city. Or she was on her way to the shack... One thing was for sure, he would need the help of the pack to find her. It would take days to check all possible places to where she might have gone and he didn't know how long the hibernation would slow down the poison...

Straighten up he turned around, not surprised to look into the waiting eyes of the four remaining captains; originally there were nine captains within the city, each of them having their own pack and only the Commander of the Capital was superior to them. But the Commander and five others of them had been poisoned, leaving them and the Duke, who had taken over leadership.

Gharion sighted and shook his head. He had already told them and the healers and alchemists that he didn't know how to cure the poison, yet they looked at him as if he was some kind of a stage-wizard, who would pull a white rabbit out of his head any moment now... At least the healers had stopped bugging him thanks to Martha, bless her...

"I need to check the Cathedral again," he said curtly. Even if the entrance was sealed, they could still enter through the windows – good thing worgen could jump high enough to do so, instead of climbing them... "And then I want... at least six search troops."

Exchanging surprised glances, Phillips was the first to talk. "And what is your plan then?"

Sighting, he answered, "If we want to save our brothers and sisters, I'm afraid we need the aid of someone who might despise us by now..." He turned away from the window, leaving the room with the captains following close by. "First we need to find out if she is alive... and then where she went to. If we are lucky she hasn't yet left the city..."

"Do you refer to... that elf prisoner?" another captain interrupted, Whitebrow was her name.

Not bothering to regard her, Gharion left the hospital into the open of Greymane Court. "Make an educated guess," he said before leaping on all forth, heading for the Cathedral.

* * *

><p>Within the Cathedral nothing big had changed. The bombs deposed by the Forsaken had been removed recently, but aside from that everything had been left as is was right after the battle. They had to clean the scene soon, otherwise the water on the floor would affect the wooden panels... But first he had to think, to observe...<p>

During their short sprint to the Cathedral his brains had surprised him with yet another idea about how she might have left, now he had to check if it was possible. Only if his assumption was right, he would bother himself with any next step.

While waiting he was just all too aware of all those stares directed at him. Everyone within and outside the Cathedral was agonizing over what the Duke was thinking about. He had a reputation of being very thorough and he never did or decided something without proper knowledge about the subject. By now they knew, that this subject involved an elf, a blood elf no less. They all knew about the prisoner, who miraculously disappeared during the battle – it must be at least a skilled elf then. How would the Duke try and conquer that elf? And why did they need it? Who needed an elf, anyway? No offense against Night and High Elves, of course...

It was a shame that due to the removal of the bombs all scents within the hall were diluted by now, there were so many smells that it was hart to trace a single one by now... He was able to smell her near the left pool, but she could also have gotten there due to the fighting. After ensuring that, he had sent word to the carpenters and stonemasons of Gilneas, asking them about the possibility of his idea... And now he was waiting again, silently observing those men busying themselves about his assumption...

All in all it didn't take long, yet it felt like hours to him when the head-inspector returned to him.

"My Lord," he addressed the taller male, "we have surveyed the pools and the connecting tunnels. You were right, it is indeed possible for a slim human or an elf as you described, to pass through."

_Yes!_

"Though quite narrow," the inspector went on, "it is possible to drag oneself through the tunnel and into the channel outside. In the direction of the water flow, one could simply drift through. And the tunnel isn't too long, holding your breath while under water shouldn't be any trouble for a trained individual."

There it was again, that satisfying feeling he had whenever his guesses fell into place and turned out to be true once again!

"Very good," he murmured, his thoughts already far off to their next steps. Regarding him curiously one last time the inspector left, a little bit disappointed that he could not coax another statement of the Duke. But then again, it was no secret that the kings nephew was a very secretive man who never shared more than needed with anybody, not even those who would be classified as friends...

Snapping back to present time within the Cathedral, Gharion nodded firmly, more to himself than anyone in particular. Regarding the cities captains, he had to suppress a chuckle: they looked like a bunch of race-horses, eager to run over the plains, already scrabbling with their hooves...

Then he turned serious again. "Alright, lady and gentlemen," he started, "we have much to do and not enough time. By now you might have guessed, that the survival of our brethren depends on us finding the elf.

"We know now, that she had left via the pools and the connecting tunnels. I want you to track her scent outside the channels in the surrounding districts. Harrison, in case the elf is in a good shape I want you to head for Tempest Reach. You might find traces of the elf there, leading to the north, or east warts to the coast." Harrison nodded, the elderly worgen did not question his orders or the reason behind it.

"Take some mages with you. In case she'll hide in invisibility they should be able to detect her... I want another small pack taking the fastest path to the north heading for the gilnean border.

"As for the rest of you, I want you to establish search troops within the city. Look for any sign that might be unusual or conspicuous..."

"What do we do, if we find the elf?" Phillips asked.

Good point. "In case she still is within the city, I want you to stay hidden from her. You will contact me immediately and I will take over from there. The elf might be injured or in a bad condition, but that doesn't mean she's no threat, and I don't want to lose any more of you because he want's to be a light-be-damned hero. Should you find her outside the city, try to capture her. But keep in mind that we need her full cooperation in this." He kept his eyes fixed upon Harrison, to make his point clear. The aged warrior was a cool blooded man, even in his worgen-form. He would be able to keep his emotions in check in the face of a blood elf and wouldn't allow his men to do anything stupid... If he would find the elf, Gharion could be assured that his elf wouldn't get as ill-treated as she was while Marty was in charge...

Growling, he quickly re-arranged his track of thoughts. He would deal with Martin Blackthorn soon enough...

"Why can't we just force the secret about a counter-potion out of her?" That was Captain Bruce.

Should he just make an example of this? Oh, he wanted to... he really did.

"Because," Gharion snarled through his fangs, barely keeping his rage in check, "if I know one thing about this poison, than that the counter-potion, as you call it, doesn't exist. It is possible that every single of our warriors needs a special created potion, that only works for him and nobody else."

Glaring at the captains, he decided to stake his point. Slowly he regarded each captain with long stares. "If I... hear anything... and I really mean _anything_... about her being maltreated or what-so-ever by any of you or anyone else... than I swear, I will hunt you down like a cur, I will gut you, and I will hang you up on a tree with your insides spilling out... And believe me... you will _live _through the process.

"I hope, you get my point. I want your reports about anything that might be a hint about her whereabouts! First gathering tomorrow noon."

Silence. Silence and that unquestionable certainty that this was anything but a hollow threat.

Glaring at them one last time, Gharion took his leave, jumping lithely through the window and into the open. That should make sure none of those captains would dare to even touch his elf. The very thought of her being touched by anybody but him made him almost boil in rage anew...

_No, calm down, pal, you have to think..._

* * *

><p>Shadows were departing, leaving a lone worgen on the wide open plaza. Only mere hours ago this plaza had been razed by a fierce battle, now the bodies of the fallen had already been removed. However, signs of the previous bloodshed were displayed visibly in the open, showing off the violence of that battle. Puddles and strains of blood on the ground and on the low walls and crippling trees, broken blades and arrows, dark spots of minor explosives... It was like an oversized crime scene.<p>

Yet, Wallace had no eyes for those remnants of slaughter – not that he hadn't enjoyed himself on this huge playground, but he had to try and focus his mind. Somehow he had the idea focusing became a straining business since he had started to sport fur, claws and fangs... Nobody, not even fellow worgen, knew how exhausting it could be to concentrate on a matter at hand if it was as emotionally loaded as this. Normally worgen would just rely on their instinct and it never fooled them. Wallace had always appreciated this treat which came with being a worgen, but right now? Cool thinking and reasoning didn't go well with ferocious bestial instincts...

He wanted to tear the poor man to pieces as he approached him hesitantly. Why couldn't people just leave him alone to his mind? They wanted results and some bloody kind of miracle from him? Then they should stop mingling with his business...

"What?" he snarled through his gritted teeth, not regarding the trembling man.

"Sir, my Lord... erm..." He almost felt sorry for that poor bloke... almost. "We found this bound to a broken skeletal horse. Captain Whitebrow send me to deliver it to you; she said, it could be vital..." Oh, did she now? Wallace gave a short barking laugh before he turned around – and froze on the spot.

Young Daval Woodbinder felt his chest swell with pride. He alone had found this bag, he alone had registered the waning scent of the Duke on it – and he was the one, who insisted to bring it immediately to Lord Gharion and who persuaded the captain to let him deliver his booty. One look at the Duke, who was usually so hart to read, was all he could ever ask for...

Wallace indeed was speechless – something that never happened to him and which was an unwelcome thing, especially in front of a young blood like this messenger... Yet he couldn't find himself to care about that now. Taking the bag almost tenderly, he stared down at the tattered container.

Yes, there was his own scent, and that of his elf, lingering deep inside the material since it belonged to her probably for years... And there was another scent on it... he knew that one, too, it was the High Executor. So the 'dead' Deathcharger had been Horacio's? Good, then that bone-guy had to walk back home at least... Save to assume that he had survived, Horacio wasn't the man who would get himself killed by random soldiers...

This bag was certainly precious to him, yes, it held memories of a short carefree time not long ago, only mere days... but how could it help him solve this matter?

"Tell Captain Whitebrow to proceed as agreed," he murmured, still staring down at the leather bag. Dismissed the messenger trailed off, feeling ridiculously proud of himself. What would the others say about this when he told them? From the Dukes reaction this bag certainly was important... Maybe he had just delivered the key to find the elf prisoner!

Sighting, Wallace opened the bag. His racing mind wouldn't come to a halt right now, anyway, so a distraction was in order. _If you don't come to terms with yourself, do something else and the answer will come to you_ – this old saying of his father had always come in handy betimes... and since his mind truly was stuck...

The tent plane they had used this last night, blankets and empty waterskins... The things were ruffled, probably by the High Executor when he had searched the bag earlier. All this seemed ages ago, yet it all happened this previous day... However, Horacio hadn't been very thorough with his search; there were her robes, neatly folded, and her lab was untouched, too. Would it help if he would deliver the lab and left over ingredients to the alchemists of the city? No, it wouldn't, none of them could redesign the potions she had made for them, and he himself had no clue about alchemy at all...

Those robes... he chuckled lightly. Yes, she would probably appreciate having those back. Elves had no tastes for the higher meanings of proper clothing... She had been like a drowned kitten in his arms after their dive this morning; on hindsight he wouldn't be surprised if she would have simply froze on the spot... Yet she had managed to surprise him today, being tougher that he would have given her credit for. Running fast and lithely behind him, she swam like a fish despite the biting cold of the channel water... and then she had managed to keep herself completely still during their run-and-hide to the armory... Even though she was so tiny and delicate that he could snap her in two with one of his paws, she was more then a pretty face and smart brains...

He jerked up, eyes widening. Smart enough to find her way through the maze of valleys of Gilneas City? Smart enough to recognize already known paths? Smart enough to find her way to that small armory, which was poorly guarded and therefore the perfect temporarily save hiding place...? - It had been dark already, and the temperature had cooled down again... By the Light, she was surely freezing! And she didn't know were to find clothing now, since he had given her the gilnean robes... Would she be able to try and find replacement? No way, not if she would be in a nearly as poor a state as she had been in this morning.

Yes, she was smart... a former ranger... She _could _find her way back to the armory!

It was worth a try – and much better then sulking on an abandoned 'crime scene'...

* * *

><p>His paws barely touched the ground. Above him the sky had darkened again and the first raindrops fell on his brown greyish fur. The rain deluded the scents around him but he had no need for them anymore. The more he thought about his idea, the more it appealed to him. In the beginning he thought, that she had been too paralyzed by the cold to even notice her surroundings, but on the other hand she had been able to easily survive the gilnean wilderness for almost two months... It shouldn't be an impossible task to recognize and remember certain marks in a maze-like city to find a previous path.<p>

At least for his elf. During those last two weeks he had realized very soon, that despite the fact that she was easily caught off guard, her mind was quick and he had been thankful for his excellent senses to know her mood and emotional state... which was perfect since he was unable to guess her thoughts... something he could with almost everyone else. It was an unsettling feature about her... but also refreshing, and he had started to gamble with all her moods and its swings. And though he got better at it, she always managed to surprise him... funny thing was, that she managed to surprise herself as well.

So there were still enough things she could manage herself pretty well... finding her way to the armory might be possible, and since he couldn't do anything else, he forces his paws and limps to new highs, jumping from one roof to the next, racing over the wet surfaces. Reaching the armory, the rain was pouring down on him as if buckets of water were emptied from the skies. Good ol' Gilneas, blessed be your weather and the fact, that not a soul has to suffer from thirst.

No traces of himself here from earlier this day, the rain had washed away all scents – he barely suppressed his howl of triumph. Yet there _was _a scent, fresh and not yet drowned by the rain. A silk-like scent of delicate flowers. And again everything fell into place. The smug grin couldn't be suppressed...

* * *

><p>Inside the inconspicuous house, the scents were more prominent again. He could smell the left overs of his own traces but much more important the unmistakable smell of her. And a dark mess on the ground before the stairs. Taking it up, he frowned. It was the mantle he had given her this morning, its wet pockets still filled with leaves and petals she had gathered previously.<p>

She had left behind the evidence, with which she could prove the Banshee Queen's betrayal? She must be worse than he thought!

Slowly, she could have set up traps on her own after all, he crept down the narrow staircase into the cellar with the armory. Years ago this had been a secret hiding place of the rebels around Darius Crowley. They had gathered arms from all around the kingdom, hoarding them in underground places under the very noses of the Royal Guards, awaiting the moment when Crowley would give the final signal to start another rebellion against the king. The worgencurse and the Horde changed things. Best method to ensure inner peace is a threat from the outside. Gharion couldn't stop wondering what would happen, if the Alliance would win against the Horde for good and what would happen than with all those ties to other races and factions...

_Interesting times for sure..._

No traps. He could hear the fire cackling, it had burned down almost to embers, providing only little warmth by now. The unmoving form of the elf hadn't noticed him, though. Wrapped in the blanket she had rolled herself into a tiny ball, the slow rising and falling of her shoulders made his heart clench.

She was sleeping. How exhausted and tiered must she be to just drop asleep? Without security, without wards, without any back-up or anything. Or was it just an illusion? - No, her scent was everywhere in the room. She had tumbled down here, she had been falling down the stairs. She was so exhausted that she had needed a blade to free herself from her wet clothes, the torn and cut remains littered the ground behind her. She hadn't even taken the little knife to defend herself in case that she would have to face enemy worgen again... It laid abandoned on the remains of her robes.

She didn't seem to care at all.

Dropping the bag, he knelt down, carefully touching her shoulder. She didn't stir. Pushing aside the blanket a shivering mess of white skin and dark hair greeted him. She was cold, freezing cold.

Not thinking what he was doing, Gharion took out every blanket you could reach from the bottomless bag. She was cold, and her bluish lips were brittle from thirst, she probably had a fever, too. He rolled her out of the damp blanket she was wound in, and rewraped her into the dry ones, draping them around her in many layers. Finally with all available blankets spent, he turned to the fire. The wood for the little chimney was almost hidden behind some racks with polearms, she probably hadn't seen it, otherwise she might have put some wood into the fire before blacking out... Otherwise, it didn't look like she would have had the power left to do so...

Assuring that the fire would provide her with proper warmth again, he left the cellar. The cities guards used this house as minor basement, so everything needed form a little shaving knife to bandages and food was stored here and kept available at all times. Of course his elf didn't know that, but he did and so he wasn't surprised to find a full stockpile with dried fruit, bread, cheese and ham. Watery beer and whine in barrels and bottles – no water here since stored water became tainted without any preparation.

Taking some bottles of whine and putting handfuls of each food into a linen sack, he returned to the cellar. His elf hadn't stirred. Somehow he was disappointed that his presence alone couldn't wake her, on the other hand he didn't mind. To know that she was alive and well (more or less) … He felt himself relax from stress and fear, which he hadn't even noticed until now. He couldn't find that he cared much now; after infusing some careful sips of whine down her dry throat, he took some himself before he shed out of his coat and leather shirt, his gloves followed to the ground where he laid them carefully on a dry spot – always look after your gear, your life depends on it.

He almost smiled at the memory of their nest... If he was a bronze dragon, he would just turn back time. He wasn't tiered, he was just glad. Taking away the blankets, he took her up in his lap in front of the fire, she was still cold and shivered against him. Draping the blankets around them both, he was pleased to find that the trembles were slowly ceasing.

What would happen, when she woke up? She had been raped by his kin, his comrades. Would she even want to talk with him? - Common sense told him, "What the fuck are you thinking? Of course _not_!". Yet his instinct was adamant, that she would be more than positive to have him back again.

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><p>She was... drifting... gliding through warm nothingness. Every now and then her skin was caressed by something soft, in fact she seemed to be surrounded by this softness. It embraced her, tickled her slightly in some places or was like silk in others. Slowly her sense of smell returned to her. It was a familiar scent, a smell full of memories of past pleasures, and full of future promises...<p>

Then she flinched; her body and mind slowly returned to present time, and with it came all events which had taken place only hours ago. Phin groaned in pain. Her nether region was throbbing, not as bad as it used to earlier but still irritating so. Her whole body was covered by scratches and bruises; she felt as if there wasn't any patch of skin that didn't hurt right now.

There! A voice! She knew this voice. Was it true? Could it be true? Was he here? Had he found her? How? And when? How long did she sleep? Hours? Days? Months? - Gosh, she was hungry... and thirsty!

She wanted to say something, but only a croaked groan escaped her throat – her too dry throat... Something soft and damp was pressed against her lips – a soaked piece of cloth. She started to suck at it to drink the sweet fruity liquid – whine? Very weak and watery whine, but what did she care? It was wet and drinkable!

She heard a dark chuckle – was it really him? She wanted to open her eyes! - Something hart was pressed against her lips now, the bottle it seemed. She felt ridiculous that she had to be fed and cared for like a newborn, yet she couldn't really care. She wanted to see, she wanted to know... He said something, but her head still was a blurted mess by the sweet taste, her painful memories, the sheer sensual overload of impressions this very moment... She wanted to wake up, like _right now_... and more than anything she wanted to fall asleep again in this warm embrace of tenderness and caring hands...

_Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up..._

"Wake up, early birdy." Her eyes snapped open – and shut them immediately when greeted by sudden brightness. Groaning both hands rubbed her eyes, while a foreign hand stroked her head – she felt a puppy right now...

"I'm no puppy-flushy-something," she mumbled, barely able to vocalize her words while her eyes opened to slits.

"I don't agree," the far to merry voice of her wolf answered her.

She blinked. He was here! He was really here! It was him! It was him all over! His voice, his hands (paws!), his fur and just everything... The world could end this moment. Forsaken could come down on them now; that worgen Commander from the Cathedral could burst into the cellar – she didn't mind. Cuddling into her wolfs chest, her fingers clawing into his fur, she did care about anything anymore. The Banshee Queen? Garrosh? - Both of them were adults, they could deal with their own business... She had found her personal little heaven, and by the Sun, she wouldn't leave it!

However, she was well aware, that her personal little heaven could and probably would leave to somewhere else... He was a worgen, from what he had told her about his kin they had a very strong bond to their 'pack', their home and their king. Could she fit into that? Would they _let_ her fit into it? …

Swallowing a few times, she took a deep breath. "You... you are leaving soon, are you?" Hell, she was scared of his answer... Did his embrace got firmer?

She stopped counting her breaths while waiting for an answer. He was keeping his silence... he, Wallace was his name. Was is his given or family name? It could be both...

"Families," he said.

Blushing she bit her lip. She hadn't realized that she had spoken loud again... Thankful she took the bottle of whine he passed her and drank greedily. Good thing this whine was more water than whine... normally her hard limit with alcohol was a close one, but this stuff was as drinkable as any sap or juice.

"And..." she started after a few mouthfuls, "what's your... well, you know... given name than?" She felt so incredibly stupid. They knew each other for two weeks now, had been excluded from anything else all this time and she had failed to simply ask him his given name? This really was so embarrassing! Not telling each other names had been something like last resentments against the other... resentments she secretly had. They seemed so childish now...

Her blush was spreading all over – or was it the weak whine after all?

Her wolf kept caressing her, as if he was ensuring himself that she was really here and not just a fantasy created by some hideous magic... Sometimes she could feel his claws raking innocently over her skin, and while claws had haunted her previous nightmares and had sent her right into panic back in the Cathedral... now they made her... crap, if she wouldn't be so tiered and hungry and just barely more than a bloody meatball of misery, she would feel horny! _What's wrong with me?_

What ever it was what her reactions told him (oh yes, she remembered – she might be able to hide her thoughts from him, but her traitorous body wasn't), it made him chuckle – yes, she had missed that sound... He lifted her chin and for the first time since ages it seemed, she gazed into those pools of liquid gold.

"Duke Gharion Wallace, my lady," he cocked his head slightly like the distant reminder of a bow. "At your service."

A _duke_? Holy crap! Yes, she knew a bit about human society ranks – and a duke was just below the king. Well, that did explain a lot, now did it? - Apparently her face didn't hide her feelings this moment: again a deep chuckle rumbled through that massive chest against her. "Well..." she mumbled, looking down – so that wooden panel on the ground over there had two evenly holes in it, interesting... "my... pleasure... your lordship..."

It would be normal to tell him her name now... right? It would be polite... _Blast, say something! _Maybe he already knew...? - Clearing her throat, she added, "Ser... Seraphita Moonshadow, ahm... at your service... too..." Could this be getting any more embarrassing?

"Such a long name for such a tiny bird?" he laughed silently. His hand (paw?) had settled in her neck, were it lightly raked her skin and hairline – it sent goose bumps down her back, making her shiver. Wordlessly he passed her some bread and cheese, which she greedily took with both hands while biting off of each in turn, barely taking her time to chew. "Slowly," he murmured, still busy with arranging his next words.

He was so nice towards her... why? Tiny sparks of hope, that he still had feelings for her, started to bloom deep down and she barely dared to breath. He would talk now, he would share his plan with her. By the blood of the Highborn, whatever it was, she would do it! Whatever he would want her to do, she wouldn't hesitate... as long as is included, that she could stay with him! To hell with the Horde and Alliance, she had enough of that infantile bullshit...

A long drawn howl pierced through the air. It was barely to be heard down in the cellar, but Phin jerked up in high alert. He, too, sat up strait, his ears pointing to the staircase, listening intently to the message before he relaxed again.

"They have just finished searching and securing the great plaza of the Cathedral Quarter," he explained, when she gazed at him questionably. "We are securing the city to make sure no Horde has been left behind the lines." His voice was calm as ever, he could be talking about the eventualities of the gilnean weather with this impassive voice... but as a matter of fact, she _was_ a Horde!

_Hello, Mr. Panic, you've been often around lately... _It would be so nice to just drop asleep for a day... or a month, and just wait while others would decide about her future fate... But no sleep came to claim her, no blackjack to take her out... and still no worgen who came bursting down into the cellar to arrest her. Was her wolf here to arrest her? He said 'we', so he seemed to be in charge somewhere around the cities guards now. Did he got promoted?

"And yes, they are looking specifically for a dark haired blood elf..."

She swallowed hard. "What do I have to expect?" she asked tiny voiced.

"They want you to do something for them," he answered calmly.

She bit her lip. "I... would do anything... I really would." She swallowed. "I don't care what they want from me... I just..." _I just want you to stay with me_. Was it foolish of her to ask for that, to even hope for it? How did you ask somebody else to stay with you, especially if that somebody was supposed to kill you?

And yet... would they interrogate her? It didn't quite scare her now. Her wolf already knew why she was in Gilneas and what she was supposed to do here initially. She was just a minor pawn in the Horde war machine. She had no insight in any plans, strategies or troop movement. What could she tell the Alliance what they didn't already knew by themselves? It wouldn't surprise her if they would know even more than she did...

That thought soothed her a bit. Sure, she was already branded as a traitor since she sabotaged the Forsaken's assault today, but hey, Horacio and Sylvanas wanted to kill her! She had done what she thought was right. But giving away any information about the Horde inner circles would be a whole different dimension... She wouldn't give away information, even if it was just minor stuff like monday's stew in Thunderbluff. This was about principles... and she never claimed to be reasonable anyway...

While she sat there pondering, lost in thought, she was oblivious to the tall worgen, who held her in his arms. When he finally spoke, he sounded surprised. "You do not seem to have any motivation to leave for your homelands, or your allies... Why not?"

Looking back up at him, she stared into those golden eyes. He was right... she had no desire to return to her people, be it in Silvermoon or Orgrimmar or any other Horde city. "I don't think, I can return," she finally answered. "I don't think, Horacio... the High Executor, would count on chance that I somehow died today, and he'll probably sent every available Deathstalker after me." She snorted. "I wouldn't even make it to Orgrimmar... Sylvanas know that I am here and that I'm on her tail about her using the Potent Plague. She wants me dead, and as long as she doesn't get my head, I don't believe she will count on chance either."

Phin felt herself shrug carelessly; as nervous as she had been previously, now she felt calm and settled... "To tell you the truth, Rion, I really don't care much what your friends want from me..." _'Rion'_... she liked his name. Sometimes talking without thinking was a good idea, that's for sure...

He chuckled, obviously amused by her last statement – and relieved. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "And from what you said, I do not think that our request will be too much..."

_'Our request'?_

"What the difference between your kins requests and yours?" she asked, feeling a bit bold to ask him right away.

He smiled at that, absently he stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "The difference is, that I wont do anything against your _outspoken _wish." A mischievous spark flared in his eyes. She swallowed – he had used these words before... weeks ago... and it had ended with... Again a traitorous blush spread all over her face. She remembered all to well what happened last time he said those words... Wait a moment, she didn't get wet down there, did she?

"Yet," he went on lightly, "right now I have to insist upon you to take some more rest. And to tell you the truth, I think I'm in for a nap, too."

He was right. Sated and warm and save, rid of stupid questions about the near future, she felt this heavy tiredness pressing down on her. She remembered waking up last morning; she had been right, things surely changed since then... Wait, did he already told her what that request was? ...

* * *

><p>What am I thinking? I have to read about Land Grabbing and Namibian history and strategic reformations in Zimbabwe... I have to rethink my priorities -.-<p>

Still here? :P


	19. Chapter 19

To think that I wanted to combine this chapter with the previous one...

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><p><strong>Chapter19<strong>

When she woke up, it was in a familiar surrounding. A furry arm around her, pressing her against an overly warm chest. Deep breathing in her neck and the fact, that she still had some more moments of cozy solitude before he would wake up.

However, as much as she tried to push aside those last images of her nightmare, the real experience still held her prisoner. She could still feel the chocking ropes around her body, displaying her to her bestial assailants. There were still numerous cuts, some just on the surface, others deeper, though not bleeding anymore. The stinging pain was omnipresent. Best not to just not stir at all then.

That left her with the all too real horror. She could feel _them_! She still felt their canine flesh pumping into her, felt those inner cuts tearing, even her own tears running down her cheeks... Oh no, wait, she _was _crying.

_Phantom pain... always needs... time... yes..._

She was strong, she coulddeal with this. Yes... yes... She had to think, now she could think. _He _was asleep... he, who was like – no! He was in no way like... _them_!

_But he did rape you... - No, he did not! I wanted it!_

He looked so peaceful... Gazing up at the motionless face, she remembered she loved, she felt that uncontrollable shiver getting new hold of her. Memories yet again flooded her mind... faceless furred brutes jumping on her, ravaging her... and somewhere in between the face of the wolf, strangely clear... and he grinned... Not his usual ironic goodhearted grin, that grin that made her heart skip beats and her lips twitch... This grin he grinned in her dream was dark, malicious. In her dream he nodded in approval at his comrades... waved at others, who lurked in the shadows, to join them. And that ever throbbing anguish, and her helplessness... No ley lines, no magic, no friends... No plan, no plan B, no backup-plan and no plan, if anything went wrong...

But the face... _It's here, and it is all right... he is sleeping._

Sitting up, she suppressed a pain laced groan. Her insides didn't hurt anymore, mucous membranes in general healed very fast, faster than normal skin. She was still stiff, though, and the bruises and cuts were protesting against every single move.

_Stop whining!_

Staring down at him now, she wondered. What happened to him after they parted? If she remembered right, he had been reluctant to send her off to safety... Then he raced off to join his pack.

She also remembered him saying, that he would ensure her well-being and that he would help her fulfill her mission... Well, he messed up with the first part, that was for sure (_you had your own part in it, remember?_) ... as for the other, that did not matter any more. She could not return to the Horde as long as she had to expect that Deathstalkers would loom behind every corner or tree...

"Why didn't _you _come?" she whispered into his sleeping face, chocking at her tears. "Why didn't _you _answer my call? Why was _he _so angry?"

She could see the Commander now. His grey furred face tinged with silver strands and dark marks around his snout and blazing eyes; it filled her inner eye... His rage, the humiliation he wielded against her, and the dormant pleasure he took in her cries and pleas... and the way he looked at her, that deep seated animosity.

Shuddering, Phin gathered up the blanked, wounding it around her. That Commander had truly hated her. Initially because she was... a half-breed, an elf. She knew from her many travels in the past centuries, that many humans held these resentments against her kin, viewing High Elves just as some kind of a human-subspecies. And Gilneans obviously still had those false prejudices, even if there actually where some High Elves among their allies...

_The more they hate blood elves now_, Phin thought bitterly.

A long drawn sigh escaped her wolf. _Oh crap!_

Opening his eyes, gazing at her, he replied, "He was angry because he was out of his mind..." Lids closed again, one furry arm draped itself over his face. He seemed to be in pain... pain, that became obvious when he added, "And because I failed to tell him what to expect..."

Phin swallowed, swallowing down any reaction she knew would be logical... _But not helpful!_ - Shutting her own eyes for a moment, she took some deep breaths, knowing that he stared at her from under his arm. She wanted to –

_No, you don't!_

"How did you fare?" she whispered, opening her eyes again.

She must have been quiet rather long since he sat up, awaiting her excitable temper to break lose again. _No, it wont!_

He told her, from the moment he had turned his back at her. She heard about how he jumped head over heels into the ongoing fray – and how he almost died because of his own recklessness.

"It was my fault, you see," he said. "I am the _Protector of the South_, it my bloody job to keep the southern provinces clear from any Horde. And I almost died, and the Forsaken... they planed it well. If I hadn't failed that night, none of this would have happened..."

And so he ran off, to make good of at least some of his shortcomings, as he called it. However, with his still incapacitated body, especially his shoulder, he was an easy target. Only his ferocity and determination saved his hide – that and the fact that his sheer presence had somehow restored some hope in his pack-brothers... why ever that was. He might be a noble and it so happened that his mother was the kings younger sister... He could fight, yes, he had brains and sense for strategy and what not... but none of these were reasons for why his comrades were so inspired by him... It was still a mystery to him...

However, thanks to his comrades he did not have to fight alone, and also thanks to them he survived and went to report back to the Commander of the city, an old friend from the Civil War many years ago.

He paused, closing his eyes again. A deep frown formed on his forehead, before her went on. "Of course, he was glad to see me, but he also had many questions. Hell, everyone had. They thought I had been dead for weeks, and then I turn up the moment the enemy launches this big attack?" He shook his head.

Yes, he wanted to tell them his story, about how and why he had survived. He would try to keep her role as minor as possible, he would figure it out then...

But the moment the healer started her magic on him, he heard her voice, Phins voice. And he wanted to run and check.

Of course, they wouldn't let him. He was barely able to walk on his own, and maybe it was a trap. And so he asked, no, begged Marty to go in his place.

Again a pained pause.

The monster's name was _Marty_? She thought it would be something like 'Doombringer', or 'Elfslayer'... something that would make even an orc pale... _Marty_?

From then on he knew something bad, something really bad was happening – and that he was the one responsible for it.

The healing took so long. "... and I turned it in my head around and around, again and again... I thought about what I could have told him, to... to stop him from what he did then. Martin was a good friend, reliable and funny... I was his best man when he got married..." Again a pause...

… in which she dared to speak. "Why 'was a good friend'?" she asked.

He regarded her sadly. "How could I call him my friend, if he has so little faith in me?"

She knew what he meant: he was speaking about that the Commander thought that she had somehow used magic on his friend... which she of course hadn't, but then again...

"I do not want to be the reason for you to break up with a friend," she whispered.

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, sighting. His voice was stern when he said, "If I have to choose... you would be top on my priority list! I know full well that Marty has a dark side, we all have. But there is a difference to relish in it or to try and keep your mind.

"I have always tried to control the Beast, even while dealing with my enemies. There are good days, and bad ones. Yes, I've lost it often enough, but I can say that I tried. Marty can't. Many of us use the wild spirit on purpose and they have any intention to get lost in it...

"Maybe I'm hypocrite in this, but since I have spend years lost in insanity, I think it is our mind that is separating us from an _animal_. And even though we are in fact nothing more than wolfs in human disguise, we can at least try to restrain us."

Phin was speechless. Never before did her wolf speak for so long without pausing or her replying... And yet, despite all her haunting nightmares and -wolfs, she felt her heart swell in compassion for him. Not because of the wolf- and beast-part, no, but the little part, when he finally said aloud what she was wishing and hoping to hear. That he truly and really cared for her, that she was important to him... maybe even as important as he was to her.

She wanted to show him her gratitude, her joy, simply her love for him... yet she didn't dare. The evening before she had been to exhausted to care but now she didn't dare to touch him or being touched by him. He seemed to understand her resentments, especially since he hadn't tried to reach for her since they woke up... She was beyond being grateful as she gave him a smile she hoped was telling him what she couldn't yet say in words...

"And what happened than?" she finally asked instead. "I mean, after your healing. What did you do then?"

Looking questionably at her, he finally shrugged and continued his tale. There was not much left. He and the other able-bodied worgen from the hospital joined the battle. Those worgen he had briefed about what happened in Stormglen, and he did not forget to mention her. That way he hoped no one would attack or kill her on sight...

"… by now it is possible that every worgen within the city has a distinct idea of what you did and that you are not an enemy," he added calmly while observing every stirring in her face and overall body. "As for the battle, nothing big happened there.

"We were just in time to save Marty, who was about to lose a duel..." A pause. "He had been fighting the High Executor, who managed to poison him with the same stuff I had..."

Phin swallowed. High Executor? That could only be... Horacio!

To just think of it... Friends turned to enemies... and enemies turned out to be even more savage than she could have ever imagined... _And still_, she thought, _it's just like back than after the Scourge attacked us... It is easier to forgive downright hostility than betrayal. And the Alliance really still don't get why we would rather ally ourselves with trolls and orcs than _ever _even talk with humans?_

And what about Marty and Horacio? Marty could be cruel, yes, that much she knew. Would he have stayed his hand if she was just a random prisoner and not related to his friend? As for Horacio, he had changed since Northrend, yes, changed a big deal when he joined the Banshee Queen's forces after Garrosh took over in Orgrimmar... He was more... confident about the righteousness of his people and their claim on Lordaeron, much more grim for their cause. And even though she knew that they were close in Northrend... he didn't flinch much when she was sentenced to death, not considering disobeying his Queen for one moment to save or help a friend.

_This is the whole Garithos-thing all over again_, Phin thought bitterly.

"I got the impression, that your... friend survived the battle," she said finally. "But the poison is deadly, there is no cure... well, no cure via healing magic at least..."

"You're right," Rion agreed. "There is no way to cure this poison once it's spread. But I had the idea, that a hibernation-state could at least slow down, maybe even stop this spreading. Last thing I heard was that it kept those poisoned alive..."

Hibernation? Brilliant idea! Who'd think that this simple spell would be so helpful? - "You should consider to retrain as an alchemist," she whispered, slightly smiling. "You think like one already."

And now she knew what that... request was about. How many worgen would be infected? And how far did the spreading go? And more importantly, would she even bother? _That Commander is affected, too!_ Could she... help him? How could she even consider that?

_Maybe that is the price I have to pay for my freedom? _But this was different. Back in Blackwald, when she had found Rion slain and poisoned and close to death... it had been different from this! Back then she had been sad from all the stupidity that fueled this war, and the simple fact that she couldn't stand seeing someone suffer in obvious agony. She wanted to save him, consequences be damned.

This was something else. No way the worgen would just let her go if she would refuse! They would probably try to force the knowledge out of her, and even if he said he would protect her and anything, even a Duke Gharion Wallace wouldn't be strong enough to shield her from a city filled with angry worgen...

Or was he?

_And even _if _I help them out... would they stay true to their word and release me?_

"What happened to Horacio?" Just a little bit hope, okay? If Horacio didn't make it out of Gilneas then Sylvanas had no real reports about her supposed passing... so she might get to Orgrimmar after all – with her report... _Hope springs eternal... crap!_

"No idea," he said frowning. Was he angry? With whom? Himself? "I had to leave him before we could settle business... Blast, in retrospect I'd really like to have finished him... just as a little pay-back from our last meeting..." Last meeting?

Looking up again, the frown had deepened. "How come you know Horacio Amberton?"

Was this delicate ground? "We used to fight in Northrend," she answered then. "He wasn't an Executor back then but was part of Warsong Offensive... I think he made it to Conqueror or Captain... don't ask me. But he left service soon after that and returned to the Undercity. He's always been big in the military-thing..."

He slowly nodded, observing her while thinking about the information. She hadn't said much... It was nothing a little bit research couldn't uncover, nothing he might haven't guessed already...

Then he grinned. "I have seen the mess you left after your fight with the Deathstalkers," he said, "but I have to admit, I fail to picture you on a battlefield..."

She bit her lip due his statement. "Of course you do," she said, suppressing her own grin. "I've never been on a battlefield." Which was the plain truth...

* * *

><p>The long stretched howl reached them even down here. Sad sounding and somehow unearthly it seemed to vibrate through the whole house and the bodies of its inhabitants. Phin felt her insides churn by the sound, clutching the blanket around her while listening, half expecting a bunch of worgen bursting into the cellar.<p>

But nothing happened, except for her wolf who sat strait and perked up his ears, listening just a intently as she did. Yet unlike her he could actually understand the essence of this howled message...

Out of a sudden he growled in irritation. "Oh, please, guys, come on!" he grumbled – the howling still didn't cease.

"What are they saying?" she asked hesitantly.

Looking down at her, he shook his head in trying to sooth her fears. "No big deal," he said and got up. "I forgot the time; it's around midday now and the captains are to report to me. I ordered it myself yesterday... We should get moving to meet them, otherwise they get agitated and wont allow me outside these walls ever again..."

"Why do they have to report to you?" she asked wondering.

He grabbed his shirt. "Since five of nine captains and the Commander of town are incapacitated, I took over command."

Phin felt her eyes widen. _Just like that?_ "You took over... just like that?" she asked disbelieving. "And nobody is questioning you?"

"Not yet, at least," he replied from under his shirt. "During battle and right after it, there wasn't much time to question anything." Pulling the fabric down his massive chest, he added, "It's possible though, that they'll gonna question things today. But I don't think so. If they do, I could still play my... 'royal-king-pin'-card." He snorted. Obviously he would play this card only very begrudgingly...

She cocked her head to the side. "Why do you keep your relationship to King Greymane down?" she asked after a moment.

Picking up his vest, he didn't reply. Waiting while his silence stretched, she got up slowly. Her body protested all over. She could feel some cuts tear open and bit her lips to suppress her pained moans. Looking down at herself, she swallowed. Her usually too pale skin was painted in blues and greens, reds and purples, some darker than others with angry dark edges. There was almost no spot of her usual skin left and she felt puffy and sore. _How am I supposed to wear anything with this?_

Turning around, she addressed her wolf again. "Are there any... night gowns down here?" she asked. She would definitely not wear any gilnean robes again! A night gown was usually wide and light, perfect for her present condition... Facing a bunch of worgen in a night gown?

"I have something better," he replied. Grabbing something, she hadn't noticed before, he passed a leather bag to her. _My bag!_

Squealing she tore it out of his hand. "My bag!" she cried in joy. "Where did you find it? Where has it been?" Rummaging in the satchel, she didn't wait for his answer. Instead she dove unerringly for the potion, she so desperately needed right now. Holing it up triumphantly, she purred it down her throat. It didn't take long for her to feel its effect. The aching and throbbing eased a bit, the stinging pain of those cuts faded. Those many bruises on her skin paled and those crisscross lines of slashes became thin white lines. Even though her energy-level would still take another day or two to be on its former high, her body at least felt less disheveled now... And robes – her _own _robes! This was better than Winter Veil!

While getting clothed, she only halfheartedly listened to him. "One of the warriors found it bound on a dead Forsaken-horse. It was probably Horacios..."

"It's name was Icewarrior," she whispered while pulling her red tunic over her head. When he lifted in brow in question, she added, "The name of Horacios Deathcharger, it was Icewarrior."

"Forsaken name their mounts?" Rion asked skeptical.

"Of course," she replied matter-of-factly. _Of course you name the only friend, from who you can expect loyalty, no matter who and what you are... A being that wouldn't back away from you, just for what you are..._

It was remarkable how clothes could change once attitude, as if transforming into another whole different person. Just like they say, it's the clothes that makes the man, or woman in this case. Fully dressed and 'armed' the idea of meeting a horde of feral worgen wasn't as unsettling as it had been before (while picturing the same scene wearing a night gown... a white one). It couldn't be so bad, now could it? After all, he was now in change, and who for heavens sake would dare to challenge her wolf now?

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><p>Outside it had stopped raining – well, not really, but one could barely call this haze 'rain'. Phin huddled deeper into her cloak, putting the hood over her dark head. When he made a sign she halted, not surprised when he threw his head back to answer the constant howling from the other end of the city – which almost immediately died down.<p>

Murmuring something that sounded like "infantile cubs" he let her along the alley ways away from the armory. She half expected him to carry her to shorten their way, but to do that he would have to... touch her... She shuddered inwardly while following him.

As soon as they reached the main road, he fell into a light jog, aiming for the next district. Phin caught up with him, running right behind him. Unwanted memories of the last time they had run like this appeared before her inner eye... But back then they had run as if the Burning Legion itself would be only paces behind them. This was an easy trot and even with her still throbbing body she was glad to notice that her legs at least enjoyed this little workout...

The streets and plazas where empty from any guard or other scout – or she just didn't see them. Where ever they were they didn't show themselves and so she continued ignoring the growing pit in her stomach. At this point, what could she possibly do to avoid this meeting? Practically nothing that wouldn't include leaving her wolf.

_I can do this! I can do this! I can face this bunch of beasts! I'm strong! I'm not afraid! I can to this crap! I can do it! I can do it!_

If she repeated this mantra just often enough, she might be through that meeting without even noticing...

She grumbled inwardly while jogging along the main-road, past dark houses with their windows full of blackness. Many houses were damaged by previous battles, yet their original grandeur couldn't be spoiled. The whole destruction even added to the aura of melancholy superiority, as if this condition completed the picture. As if its architects had exactly this in mind while building this city...

_From where in your brain does this crap come from?_

It didn't take long for them to reach the concourse. However... Couldn't he just take a few more turns? She wasn't in a hurry...

As the street opened before them, her heart skipped a beat – not from anticipation but shock. A huge plaza opened right before them. In past timed it was probably used for parades and for showing off the newest fashion; now it was filled with countless worgen, furred worgen with their pointy fangs, their talon-like claws, their vicious eyes, their...

Phin came to a sudden halt, starring as the displayed horror. Every pair of eyes was directed at them – _her_! Some in open hostility and hate, others impassive, some... curious? It didn't matter. Her heart was drumming uncontrollably against her too small ribcage, as if it wanted to jump out and run for dear life. Because that was exactly what she wanted to do: run, just run. Run and hide in a dark cave in the mountains, far away from furry beasts and useless wars.

She couldn't breath. As if a hand was laying around her throat, slowly closing around it, chocking her while she stood rooted at the spot.

It was panic. Panic that spread through her body, infecting her system, befalling and fogging her brains. It felt as if a massive arm was encircling her poor little chest, slowly pressing the air out as she tried in vain to keep up her breathing.

_I'm strong! I'm not afraid! I am strong! Strong... Not afraid... I... can do this... I won't panic! Come on, Phin, your parents didn't raise a bloody coward! What would Andros and Selenay say if they'd see you now?!_

Clenching her teeth, her jaw started to hurt from strain... _Breath, Phin. In and out, in and out, and your heartbeat will follow..._

The hand around her neck and the iron arm around her chest faded into nothingness while she forced one deep breath after the other from her strained body. Flexing and relaxing her hands she willed some mobility back into her limps, while her boots hadn't stirred an inch...

She was too caught up to notice that Rion had stopped the same time as she had. While she slowly gathered back up her senses, he stood next to her. She missed his minor yet commanding gestures and stares at the other worgen the moment any of them could make a move. Just like him they waited. Waited for the elf to freak out at last, to attack them or to run away. But they couldn't let that happen! The elf was the key to save their comrades! What an irony...

Inhaling deeply, Phin gazed back at her wolf, who seemingly hadn't moved just like her. She gave him a weak smile, which didn't reach her eyes, but it was enough for him. He didn't touch her, but his return-smile was encouraging and like a firm embrace the same time. She could do this. She was strong. She wouldn't let herself being controlled by fear. This bloody trauma was long from over... but she would get over it. _Yes_.

Her legs felt stiff as they unwillingly obeyed her brains order to move – to move into the plaza right after her wolf. Rion let her to the big castle like house, that towered over the others. Probably the residence of King Greymane himself... _The man surely knows how to make an impression..._

Before the residence a group of three worgen approached them. From the quality of their gear Phin mused, that they were at least three of the capitals captains... but where was the forth? While one stared at her with almost unrivaled hatred, the other two, a male and a female, were impassive and hard to read, except for the general relief by the sight of Rion.

"Greetings, Master Wallace," the female said. She had dark grey fur, but her face had several silver white markings; a hunter by the look of the heavy bow she carried around her shoulder. "You look rested..." There was an unmistakable edge in her voice. As impassive her beautiful face was, her voice was not. It was rather plain that she preferred the elf being let here bound or chained...

Phin swallowed uneasy, stepping half behind the broad form of her towering wolf. Good thing he was taller than the other present worgen. Perfect to hide behind...

Rion downright ignored the females commend, though. Just his ears flicked, while she stepped back in an instant, not saying anything more. "Did you get any news from the healers already?" he just asked casually as if the elf lurking in his back was as normal as rain in Gilneas...

"None of those healers had been here so far," the hostile looking male with pitch black fur replied. The whole time his eyes were fixed upon her as if daring her to do something, _anything_, so he could jump on her. _No, pal, forget it, I'm not doing you this favor..._ Phin found herself kneading her fingers into her clothes, an old habit she sported as a youngster centuries ago. Why did their ears flick? And the eyes... Somehow she felt as it they were talking... not with sounds or words but with –

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><p>Cliffhanger! <em>Yes<em>! Eat this!

Haawwww... yeah, solution to this little scene 'll come later.

Hope, you enjoyed yourself :)


	20. Chapter 20

Sorry for being late again but its that thesis all over still. If any of you have any idea of how to speed things up, I'd be grateful.

Until that, enjoy this little treat for Halloween ;)

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><p><strong>Chapter20<strong>

Phin stared at the bright red liquid she held up, a dark blob of the just added substance started to expand. Yet the tonic shone in the small glimpse of early sunlight through the dungeon window just before the clouds pushed forward again. If it wasn't for all the rainy weather she would definitely feel better, she thought frowning. On the other hand, the occasional panic attack was never far at hand, whenever a worgen appeared around the corner without her expecting him, or her.

The battle of Gilneas City was now how long ago, two weeks? - No, not yet... Rotating the vial in her hand the liquid slowly turned its color, became a clear blueish green. Satisfied she put it to the others, all with identical content. She was preparing a large number of basic potions; next to her, gathered in the large lab, the other alchemists of the city, all humans, made the same. With these tonics to start with, they would vary them depending on the patients condition. Until now most of them had regained consciousness, some after the first tonic, others a couple days later. The cities Commander, Blackthorn, wasn't yet among them, but his condition improved starkly every day so it was only a mere matter of time...

Phin still felt tremors rum up and down her spine whenever she thought about this particular worgen. Even while he was asleep she couldn't prevent unpleasant memories from occupying her mind. Well, as a matter of fact those memories haunted her whenever she saw a worgen which was why everybody in this room _appeared_ to be human. And even though she knew they were blood thirsty furry beasts, the simple fact that they had no fur and claws made it easier for her to overcome her trauma – except the occasional back flash.

Still, there were those nagging voices deep down in her mind, bugging her, saying that she was a traitor and worse. That she was nothing but a prisoner of the Alliance, who would force her to serve them if she wouldn't do it freely. Betraying her people, her friends, her allies, her everything... _As long as I live I have time left, and that means... time to hope_. _- _That last one made up her mind in the end of those dark thoughts. _As long as I live I'll spend my time with _him_! _- It didn't stop the voices but it made her hands steadier while creating her potions.

Yes, for _him _she would do all this, she told herself. He was worth it! Once again that one scene reappeared before her inner eye, those few moments in which he cleared once and for all the limits, where he showed them, who she was from now on. Not a prisoner... and no guest... It was something else, without a name.

She remembered that day very well, even though most of the scene unfolding was a blurted mess of fur and claws, blades and snarls. It all started with Rion darting forward, faster than the wind, backslapping the captain in his face. At least, that was what she _thought _had happened. It was too fast to see single movements but all of a sudden Rion was a couple paces ahead of her where the captain had stood and same captain was sailing backwards through the air.

Worgen were furious warriors, that much she knew. Even an untrained cub could easily overpower an armed soldier. However, that was nothing compared to the forces unleashed when two fully grown and trained and bloodthirsty and _angry _worgen clashed into combat. And unlike anybody else present in the plaza, she had the impression that she was the one who didn't even see what exactly happened. She had held her breath like the other spectators, and part of her wanted to run away screaming, while the other wanted to flung herself in there to somehow separate the duelers. The though that he could get himself hurt... Just the day before he had been weak and injured and nowhere near fighting state... and now this?

In the end she realized, her worries were childish and completely out of the place. Both warriors parted eventually, yet there didn't seem to be a winner. Both were still mostly unharmed, though Bruce looked much more bruised. As if there had been some kind of a secret code or signal, they stepped away from each other, still eye-locked. And then Rion spoke: "I would never question your loyalty, so do not question mine."

That was it.

Rion had sounded exhausted, even if his breath was much calmer that the Captains; he sounded like someone who was tiered of having the same discussion over and over again. - But his words were obviously enough. Phin could almost hear it as tension around her relaxed, as if a great beast would exhale, only to realize that it had been herself all along.

"Are you alright?" Martha asked. The druid was often found in her closer proximity. Sometimes Phin had the impression, she would also accompany her to her's and Rion's dormitory if they would allow it... Phin had realized, that the seemingly elderly woman was over-concerned, especially when it came to her still sleeping husband. She liked Martha though, almost like a friend if that was even possible down here...

"Yes, yes," Phin answered quickly, putting the potion to the others. "I'm fine." She was always fine. And unless Rion asked it was always a lie – good thing he was smart enough not to ask at all...

Martha was smart, too, but asked anyway, just to be polite, or because she actually was really concerned about their blood elf "no-guest"? May it be out of true compassion or because Phin was the only reason, their warriors were recovering... who could tell? As a matter of fact, this elf was their only chance that the other victims would eventually re-awake, and that would include... a specific grey furred worgen.

"I'll make the potions today." Martha didn't press the issue, again. "I think, _he _will wake up again, so stay on call should any of the others get trouble."

Phin suppressed a shiver. She knew all to well who Martha's "he" was. "Sure," she pressed. Straighten up, she turned away quickly, not wanting the druid to see her violently shaking hands and ashen face. "I'll be right back. I... need some fresh air. Be right back."

The mage almost fled the lab, not looking at the faces she met in the corridors. She didn't leave the house, though (she didn't dare to exit it without Rion by her side...), instead she headed for the higher floors.

The lab was situated in the cellar of a great manor. In the middle of this crowded city, it had it's own garden with some fruit trees, it was more like a small castle. With a lot of space and high ceiling for a restless freaking elf to wallow in her hysteria.

Oh yes, she know who Martha was referring at. _The monster_, as Phin called him secretly, had awaken two days ago for the first time since he got poisoned. Everyone had been over joyous, the message spread within minutes through the city and their outer forces: Commander Blackthorn is awake! As for Phin, she had been screaming, just screaming, unheard by anyone else since she stood stark and stiff on the spot. Deep down in her secret halls within her own mind, she went rampant. And nobody noticed.

Except for one. She didn't notice what happened around her, that Martha fell on her knees beside her husbands bed, weeping and crying and thanking the Light for bringing her beloved back while the crowed gathered in the single-bed room, wanting to catch a glimpse of their finally conscious Commander. Still stiff she was half carried, half dragged along the hallways, past chatting and cheering people, she remembered some stairs until she was put into somewhere dark and cramped, with wooden doors locking behind her. She felt clothes hanging next to her and later she realized, that he had put her into a cupboard. But that very moment when darkness and muffled silence swallowed her, her insides turned out. And she screeched.

She screamed and screamed and she would have screamed for days maybe weeks if her voice wouldn't have broken. With her fists she battered the clothes and wooden walls surrounding her; screeching like a banshee she went frantic in this furniture, throwing herself against the walls until exhaustion took over. She sacked against the wall and sobbed. After she had calmed down, the doors were opened again and Rion must have taken her out. That part she didn't remember anymore, there was only an upcoming headache and then she lost consciousness.

Hours later late at night, she woke with a start, laying in bed with Rion by her side. Her head felt as if it wanted to burst every moment and her throat was raw and sore, her eyes puffy and red. She was sobbing again, without tears since there where none left to shed. And the ever patient Rion was swaying her in his arms, stroking her back, like he would a frightened child. It took some more tenderness from him and a potion against her headache before she drifted off into sleep again. And next day, Rion told her about "Marty's" first day awake. Obviously the Commander didn't took it well that he owned his well-being that one particular blood elf. When Martha brought him up to date with that, he promptly lost consciousness again. He drifted in and out several times, not really aware of anything but it was obvious: he would soon fully recover. And it freaked the hell out of Seraphita.

When she started to teach the worgen alchemists in how to create the counter-potion, it had been hart for her to even get close to the sleeping form of the Commander. Martha had learned fast, though, and took over that patient. However, being kind of the chief-alchemist in Gilneas City, Phin had to check on him at least once a day. And it was hell every time!

If it hadn't been for _him_... she would have lost her sanity long ago. And her probably life.

She reached the upper floors, nobody else came here. It was a bit dusty around here, moldy smelling like all old houses. Looking on the carpet she saw old food prints – so they had been here before. This manor was Rion's house, which he mentioned in a sideline. Through it's location only the ground floor and cellar were being used by the cities wardens. The high windows were barred with wooden planks and some of the little castles wings were broken down, yet there were some corridors and rooms undamaged by the battles.

Pacing up and down like a caged animal, Phin recited every known spell in her mind, every ingredient and potion. When finished, she started all over again. And again. She didn't notice Rion, who joined her, settling in a dusty armchair. His golden eyes followed her, and as her ragged breathing calmed down so, too, did he.

"Marty is awake again," he finally said. "I recently heard it. Martha is with him and seems to have everything under control. You don't have to go downstairs again for today."

Would she scream again? She doubted that she had the breath for it and her throat was still sore. Should she get violent then, breaking stuff? Well, that wouldn't do on long run, and her arms suddenly felt heavy. Why did she feel so heavy? - Sacking down on the ground, she stared into nothingness. _Not again!_ She didn't want to become hysterical again, she -

"Who is that?" she asked suddenly.

Rion blinked, not expecting her to change the subject. Following her outstretched arm, his expression darkened for a split second before settling next to her on the ground, both of them now looking up at the oversized portrait.

A black haired man, a long nose and broad lips, crowned by a thin silvery mustache. His blue eyes were set deep with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Maybe due to that strange gilnean fashion, but his shoulders were very broad, his chest almost like a barrel. He was a warrior all over, yet Phin was surprised to see long fingers, belonging to the hands of an artist rather than of a fighter. A sword in its sheath leaned against the man, but in his hands he held a quill and a single flower. His appearance was draconic, but on second view his thick brows seemed to soften and his mouth curl into a little smile, as if he was laughing secretly about an unknown joke...

"That is Lucas Wallace," Rion said. "He was my father and build this house."

It didn't really surprise her. She knew that secret-joke-smile all too well... Unlike his father Rion was handsome, even for elven eyes, yet there several likenesses, small ones, those you couldn't pinpoint and yet they were plain in their faces...

"What happened to him?" she asked after a moment, her hand searching for his larger one. She wanted to think about anything but the _grey monster_...

"He was murdered... shot, a few years ago." The answer took a moment to long, the voice that spoke, sounded bitter. Glancing sidewards, Phin saw a grim shadow on her lovers face while he started at his fathers portrait. "They said it was an accident during their hunting party, but it was not. He was executed."

Well, that was a topic that could definitely distract her. "By whom?" she asked wide eyed.

"By Genn, and the others."

_Bad!_ That was... "Why...?" That was _really_ bad. "What did he do?"

This next silence stretching between them became almost painful. Phin didn't notice that her nails dug into his hand and he didn't mind. It would be logical, if he would express something, got angry or just telling her that it wasn't her business. Anything was better than this pressing silence while sitting on a dusty carpet with your back leaning against the wall opposite to a dead man's portrait...

"He didn't do anything," Rion exhaled finally. "He was just... in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You see, after the war against the Scourge, when Arugal summoned the first worgen, we were unable to contain them. They got out of control and ran for the woods. The normal folks didn't know what happened at the Greymane Wall, except some stories from lunatic soldiers. All in all, the nobles wanted to keep everyone ignorant to the problem. They wanted to meet it by simply hunting them – back then there were not as many worgen as today. And so regular hunting parties were established and naturally my father joined them. And got himself bitten and infected by the curse.

"Back then, being bitten by a worgen held only one option. Everybody knew what's gonna happen to you with a wound like that, and my father was no exception. They granted him another week to organize his estate and so on, but he wasn't allowed to tell anyone. On the next hunt they shot him, and told my mother it had been an accident."

Was it normal, that somebody could share about his fathers murder, sounding as flatly as he did?

"How did you find out?" she asked eventually. "Did Genn tell you?"

"I did research on my own." He shrugged, a halfhearted grin flashed over his face. "Its for a reason that I choose to become a rogue... I always suspected that they didn't tell the whole story, but no matter how much I tried, I did not find anything about intrigues or intern power struggles that would explain his death. In the end I ended up being kind of Genn's protege... He felt guilty, as he _should_."

Naturally. Genn got himself bitten,too, and kept it a secret for years! - Phin let her cheek rest on her wolfs shoulder, encircling his arm. "How did you find out?" The _grey monster_ was forgotten by now.

"Father did not only handle his estate for us, he also left some notes for my sisters and me to find. Before he died he told my mother, but she had to swear to keep it to herself. My sisters and I didn't find the notes, our mother died soon after and took the truth with her. As for me, I found the notes by coincidence: I was already turned into a worgen for a while and though mindless and wild those papers were..." He shrugged again. "Maybe it was the smell or I just knew that I found something that connected me with my past, but it cleared my head from the rage. I can remember everything that happened to me since then. Before that, my time as a worgen is nothing but hunts and kills, fights and a lot of running and jumping through the forests..."

Phin pressed her cheek into the leather of his coat. He had never shared anything about his family, except in a sideline where he mentioned most of his personal information. She had to admit, she wasn't a big family talker herself, but that was more due to the fact that she was a single child and her parents, her only family, were dead for centuries. She could tell him about her master and her study of the arcane, but she had realized earlier that none-mages had little to no interest into her art. So, why bothering him with it?

"Did you confront Genn? Does he know that you know?"

"No... yes, I didn't tell him, but he knows that I found out somehow."

She frowned. She always thought, human sons and their fathers had something sacred with their relationship, or thought they had... "And... you are not angry?"

"Oh, I am angry, very much," he returned calmly. How could he stay calm? "But I am not selfish enough to blame Genn or the others. My father knew what would await him and he didn't fight it. I'm angry, but more due to this stupid accident that got him bitten in the first place. Funny thing is that he got himself bitten and killed because of it, and I got bitten afterwards and it was the reason why I found his notes in the end. I doubt that I would have gotten them without that nose..."

Did he just snicker? - It seemed like it. At least the pressure in the air around them lessened and her breath was lighter again.

Nestling herself against his shoulder, she whispered, "I guess I'm lucky, too, that you've got bitten. Otherwise... well, otherwise I would probably be stuck in some quarrel about arcane theory. Mages can be very boring."

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><p>So, "Marty" was awake. That meant nothing good for her. Since what happened... that night when Horacio and his Forsaken attacked the gilnean capital, she was petrified whenever she saw a worgen, even if it was just from afar. Images and emotions of pain and shame, simple incomprehension, would flood her mind, and every scratch and invasion came back to her as if freshly inflicted. And with the phantom pain came the memory of fear, of being helpless, defenseless. And then she just wanted to run.<p>

Yet she couldn't just run, and only her long taught discipline held her in line. Hiding inside the lab had been helpful since she was first led down into it. She had almost immediately started with creating potion after potion, explaining every step to the present alchemists. She didn't look at them, they were all worgen, and though anything but threatening, to her they were just that: a looming audience, ready to pounce her and tear her to pieces.

However, that demonstration of her skill and the first potions created under the eyes of crowding worgen... it was nothing compared to the panic she felt when she could finally retreat for the night. With Rion by her side.

The dusk brown worgen had been her constant shadow. Even though nobody came close to her, his presence made sure nobody would think of coming any closer. But his presence didn't serve to calm her strained nerves. On the contrary, he made things worse. _Much _worse! And the moment the door of their dormitory closed behind her, it was as if a heavy gate locked her into a clammy prison, with all her nightmares awaiting her.

And her body was ever her enemy again. Since they had left their little secured cottage in Stormglen they hadn't shared any intimacy with each other except for embraces during the nights. She had to admit it, she was starving for a loving touch, especially after what happened in... what happened after Horacio left her. But the very thought of being touched by a clawed furry paw... It made her stomach coil in horror and she might have vomited if there had been any food left. It was paradox, she wanted to be with him, feel his warmth, and yet she was terrified beyond hell when she heard him undressing, counting every piece of armor that fell to the floor.

When would she freak out, a little side-voice wondered while observing her self from afar. When would she start to throw fireballs and ice shards around, and if she would lack the energy, was there enough light furniture to use as projectiles? - She couldn't breathe anymore, the air around her was rejecting her weak lungs as she tried desperately to draw some breath. Black spots before her wide open eyes, the constant tremor, that had her whole body occupied, and which she tried to stifle by hugging herself and digging her nails into her arms...

And then she thought her heart would skip a beat: she felt _hands_. Hands, real hands, not paws or fur, as they covered her own shaking ones, unlocking them from her poor arms. Upon looking down at these hands, that were not hers, she saw human hands, furless except for a few black hairs on the back. And even though the nails were sharp, they were nowhere near to claws or talons.

Arms came into view as he embraced her. A human embraced her, _her wolf _was embracing her and all fear, all panic, was forgotten.

Was her trauma so easily to overcome, she wondered for a moment. Him, just transforming into his human self, his disguise? - Sometimes, the biggest obstacles could be overcome with the most simple solutions, her master often reminded her. And once again his wisdom struck her when she turned and got drunk from the view displayed before her famished eyes.

Yes, it seemed it was indeed so easy to avoid her fears, to just go around them, and after the first touch she felt herself melt into him. Her own clothes followed to the ground and warmth was engulfing her. She had been starving for this, and there had been too many hours these last days in which she thought she would never again share it with him.

That whole day she had her doubts about doing her part of the agreement, serving as potion maker for the worgen, the Alliance, and therefore becoming a traitor. Yes, it wasn't really a free decision, there was the ever present threat of what could and would happen to her if she wouldn't cooperate. But this night when she finally laid in his arms, feeling his pulse through his body against her, she didn't care about furry beasts. This was worth it. _He _was worth it. And much more.

The next day she went to the lab to rejoin the other alchemists she was stunned: the room, the whole house, was filled not with furry worgen but hairless humans! From that moment on the nagging voices lessened, never gone but not as prominent as before and she had made sure to make proper potion makers out of this lot. _I've got a lot of work to do..._

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><p>"What will happen now?" she asked after a while, returning to present time with her sitting next to Rion staring at the oil painting, which showed his father. "Now that... Martin is awake, he will recover and take over command again, right...?"<p>

"Most probably, yes," Rion nodded. "He won't stay in bed while there is an undead army right behind our doorstep, dying for another chance to visit us... And since there is a blood elf haunting the city..." He didn't finish.

There where so much more questions she wanted to ask. Would they stay here? Would _the monster _accept her presence or would he turn against her? Would the other alchemists speak in her favor, if things went wrong? And if everything _went _wrong, what would they do then? Would they be able to do anything at all then? Was Rion powerful and influential enough to keep them both save? Would he get into trouble, if he would stay with her?

She stayed silent, satisfied with this little comfort one could found between the moments. She would love to know what he was thinking, but at least this was something she was sure about now: she could always count on her wolf. That he would keep her save and that he wouldn't leave her. Even if these last days had been straining, and it didn't seemed like they would get any better in the near future, the fact that he would be with her made everything less horrible.

_Much less_.

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><p>Thanks for bugging me, by the way; I'd almost forgot about these two... just almost.<p>

And yes, I'm sure there are a lot of errors in this. Just try to ignore them ;)

Happy Halloween :D


	21. Chapter 21

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to everyone!

Here's something new, fresh out from the Talosee-Production-Studios ;) Right now I think about making character-sheets of my two main protagonists... Let's see how long that'll take me.

Actually, I had this chapter finished for at least a week or so, but my parents chose to live somewhere... well, let's say quite remote, so there was no internet for poor 'lil me. Good news, though, next chapter is as good as finished :)

And don't you worry, we're almost done here ;) Aaaaand I haven't figured out the dwarfen dialect…

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><p><strong>Chapter21<strong>

Commander Martin Blackthorn felt terrible, to put it lightly. About a dozen people crowded his little office, which wasn't the trouble. Usually however, he would face them sitting upright in his wooden armchair, clad is his black armor and the nightshade cloak, both with gilnean ornaments and signs of his rank. Weak as he was however, after being poisoned by that tricky undead fiend and unconscious for almost two weeks, he sad sunken in his seat, barely with any strength left to keep himself straight. Instead of his armor he was wearing only some soft leathers and a woolen cloak to keep him from getting cold – and he had to admit, his feet were actually freezing.

Earlier this morning he seriously wanted to wear his plate armor, but his wife made a tantrum – the first he ever witnessed from her, and the last, he silently hoped... Right now, however, while sitting half upright before the gathered commanders of all Alliance forces stationed in Gilneas, he was starting to realize that even that was hard enough without wearing plate: it felt, as if he would carry tons of metal on his shoulders.

Except him, poor state or not, the remaining four captains of the city were present, Harrison and Phillips, who was just cured from a triple-broken leg, Bruce and Whitebrow. Then there was Duke Wallace, of course, who had taken over command from him, Blackthorn, for the time being. Next to him the other so called "Outer Guardians", who secured the Alliance controlled regions of Gilneas, some them even humans and dwarfs.

Blackthorn frowned deeply while gazing at them. Several of the Guardians were still missing. Usually they operated independently with their units, all with a dozen soldiers, just reporting in every few weeks to him and the 7th Legion. That way, they were more flexible in ensuring safety in Alliance controlled land: With their small and fast forces they could easily discover and take out enemy spies or patrols.

Wallace was a genius with this kind of guerrilla tactics; he had their whole southern flank covered with a minimum of manpower, making himself a living legend. However, he and seven other Guardians had been taken out by the Forsaken! And only Wallace had survived due to some strange luck with pointy ears... That was still a story Blackthorn burned to hear. He remembered his friend ripping off the arms of a Horde soldier who happened to be a blood elf, and he also remembered the grim satisfaction of his friend, the simple pleasure of a good hunt and worthwhile kill. These last weeks had changed him, though, and Blackthorn sure didn't like it.

However, those were worries for another day. One man was still missing, however, they knew at least that he would come. Of what Blackthorn understood, was that Wallace had arranged for this big meeting to get them all up to date with what happened during the Battle of Gilneas City two weeks ago, and also some disturbing rumors that had to be dealt with. Blackthorn barely even _dared _to think about it, about saboteurs among their ranks.

Worgen spies? How was – how _could _that even be possible?

This was the third day after his awaking of almost being dead for weeks. And the second day in which he could keep himself awake. Maybe he was as weak as a kitten, but he was still sharp of mind – as he had to be. And it seemed there were more troubles awaiting him then an undead army on his doorstep and a blood elf on the loose under this very roof...

Yes, he understood that it had been her counter-potions that saved him and countless other soldiers, but that was no reason why she could still roam this place freely and without any restrains. That was of course because of Wallace, who would simply refuse to talk about her, and who forbade anyone else to speak of this topic. Blackthorn was still weak, not fully recovered, but he silently swore, he would know. Gharion Wallace was his best friend, but it seemed that his friend was not as clear in his mind as he used to be...

It was the blood elf! Yes, he remembered, that the she-elves screeching in his head had been the reason, why they discovered the bombs in the Cathedral; due to that they had lured the Forsaken into open battle and managed to win the day and save the city. He also remembered, that she was an amateur-liar and that she _knew_ why his friend had returned more dead than alive. Enough reason, to squeeze her as he did... Martha said, that he would be in his old shape within the next two or three days. Good, he would take things in his own hands again then.

The doors swung open suddenly, as the last Alliance commander arrived. Blackthorn, still sunken in his seat with both paws clamped on the armrests, silently envied the newcomer in his shining silver armor, wearing it as if it weighted nothing. Even though both armor and waving blue cloak where rimed with gold it was obvious that they had seen battle first hand – just as the man wearing them: Halford Wyrmbane, High-Commander of the 7th Legion. He had seen more epic battles than anyone could count. However, he had missed the big one in Gilneas City, and his expression was anything but positive.

The muttering within the crowded office died as Wyrmbane took his place among them, standing next to a dwarf, Kurad was his name, one the Guardians.

"Finally all here," Blackthorn mumbled; though low, his raw, deep voice carried itself effortlessly and was heard by everyone. "It is good to see everyone of you here. However, just like me, you all realize that there are several of ours missing. Where are Kassandra and Foekiller, Argo the Hazard and DeVyr? And those are only a few names. Our enemy has tricked us, and we need to find out, how, the _cursed hell_, they did it. I want answers from each of you, and fast."

Bitterness was clear within the gathered faces. Four of the finest Guardians, dead; almost half of the capitals defenses gone. And the outer forces, who were supposed to aid them in case of any attack had been absent. The thought of saboteurs, spies, wasn't so unbelievable anymore in the face of that...

Over the last years since they rejoined the Alliance, the Gilneans had been confident with their strategy. Moving in small packs, killing fast and without leaving a trail, and always connected with each other via howls, only every two or three weeks sending written and coded reports. They had been so proud of this unique strategy, to be able to secure Gilneas in the name of the Alliance with surprisingly little numbers, very little in comparison to any other warzone. - Cluelessness was the common feeling among the present commanders. What had gone so horribly wrong that day?

Looking over to Wallace, exchanging a glance, Blackthorn went on with his low voice. "From what I learned so far, we have many things to discuss." Oh, cursed be this heaviness, that still held his physics captive. How was he supposed to lead them all out of this mess, if he couldn't even speak up? "Duke Wallace, who has survived a direct assault against him four weeks ago, will enlighten us further – or so I hope."

Wallace stepped forwards and next to Blackthorns desk, golden eyes examining every person in the room before he started. "I will keep my part is this story short, since is if of little interest here," he said. If anyone would want to disagree, under that golden glare none, not even Wyrmbane, spoke up. "Like our comrades of the Outer Guardians, I, too, have been attacked by some kind of Execution Unit of the Forsaken. Unlike the others, I had fortune on my side and survived.

"Let me assure you at this point, the rumors of spies among us are not just true, they are a fact." Wide eyes and gasps, but none interrupted. "Our enemy in the north is a cunning foe. I do not know, how they got their hands on others of our kin, but they did, and they did it well. Due to them, the Horde has infiltrated our defenses and communication, probably even the security codes we use for our files." By now the audience was choking. Horde, knowing about their inner structures and chains of command? This was a nightmare coming true!

It wasn't entirely unexpected news, everyone here had his own thoughts about the "why's" and "how's" of what had gone wrong these last months. Yet, hearing Wallace speaking it out aloud, confirming their fears, made them all pale. Spies? Worgen spies, betraying the pack? Unthinkable!

Wallace shook his head, not allowing any interruption yet. "It's not the question, do we have these spies. The challenge ahead of us, is, firstly, where did they come from? I, like anyone else here, am sure that they can't be fellow Gilneans; but how, when, and where did they got infected by the worgen curse? We know about the small packs of feral worgen in northern Kalimdor and Duskwood; did those spies got recruited there? And if so, how did they learn to control their ferocity to pass as Gilneans? And secondly, and more important, how do we uncover those saboteurs?

"To do so, these last two weeks I have set up several control patrols; that way we may have some clue if there is any unauthorized contact with the enemy. This may be too simple a strategy, maybe even amateurish, but since we are at least aware of them, we have been able to cut off the Horde from any other news. Furthermore, I have consulted with the captains to make background checks on every worgen stationed in Gilneas. Unfortunately, this is a time consuming task, and with the help of some magic, every file and paper can be faked easily."

"So," Wyrmbane said after a pause, scratching his unshaven chin, "to summarize it all, our lines of communication were sabotaged, and our outer forces were out-maneuvered and partly killed by the enemy." Pondering another second, he added, "Don't get me wrong, but this sounds pretty much like any normal espionage operation: Blinding your foe, killing important individuals in key-positions... It's the every-day game we play with the Horde for decades now..."

"That's not the point," Kate Boldwyn snapped at him. The worgen in the shape of a tall fair woman, who was normally stationed in one of the eastern regions, was just as upset as the other worgen. "We Worgen have a stronger spirit of belonging to each other than it could be found among other humans, or any other race! The very thought, that one our own could... this is... _outrageous_!"

Growls and snarls from the other Gilneans agreed with her short speech.

"Which is why we need to find out, where they came from and how the enemy got them to work against us," Wallace cut in. "Bear in mind that we have to get to bottom of this fast. If the Forsaken or their agents get a hint of this, we can count on it that every spy and saboteur will leave this country within mere hours."

Kurad scratched his grey beard. "Ah'm not sure, if it is anything," he murmured, "but I heard some strange rumors from Stranglethorn a while ago, mabbe a year or so. Some pirate ship full with worgen tried to attack and take over Booty Bay. 'think ma cousin had been down dere during that event." He shrugged. "The whole aggressors armada went down with all men and rats o' board. I heard there were no survivors..."

"I heard something similar," Bruce fell in, his black shadow moving. "Some ship, which had been locked down in our port during the closing-off of Gilneas, and which left immediately after we lost control of Keel Harbor. It's not known that any of them was affected by the curse, but who knows? These rats are a sneaky bunch..."

"At least," Blackthorn whispered against the uprising murmurs, "we have some clue now of the origin of these filthy bastards. However, that doesn't help us in how to uncover and get rid of them." The very thought of dealing with these spies made him itchy. He wished for nothing more than his old strength back, to hunt these infiltrators and rip them to pieces! And by the lock of it, anyone else in the office, no matter if they were worgen or not, shared his feelings.

"I think, Duke Wallace's instructions have been helpful so far," Harrison cut in; the elderly caption didn't need to raise his voice, if he was speaking, everyone was listening. "The enemy doesn't know that we are taking measures against them. We should use this advantage and close off any possible hideout. In this matter, I believe our allies of the 7th Legion can help here, since they seem to have more experience with spies in general than we have."

Nodding faces, all grim set. They had seen enough battles to not underestimate their enemy, who valued cunning more than anything else. Blackthorn shuttered as he remembered that fiendish Executor he fought during the battle, the one who poisoned him, and probably countless others. What happened to him anyway? Was he dead? They found his demonic warhorse, but no other remains that could tell them his fate. It was a disturbing thought that this man, this _devil_, was still out there, probably planning the next big assault...

_We have to prepare ourselves_, Martin Blackthorn thought grimly, focused on the discussion ahead. _This can only get much worse from now on..._

And the elf? If Wallace wanted to keep an elf-pet, then it was his problem. He, Blackthorn, had real trouble to handle here. In time, his friend would come back to his senses, as would everybody else, than things would be alright again. And if Wallace wouldn't get his head right by himself, he would take things in his own hands. Thinking of the elves squirming, this wasn't an unpleasant thought...

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><p>Duke Wallace strode along the corridors, rehearing the meeting in his mind. It had been worthwhile and more productive than he had thought previously. Soon, they would have those spies cornered and unless they fled with their tails between their legs, there was no doubt that they would get them, each and every one of them. He wished, he could join the silent hunt to avenge his dead friends, who died weeks ago in the Blackwald. However, he knew he couldn't join that battle; as a matter of fact, he couldn't join any battle anymore. Not with <em>her <em>around.

His mood darkened upon this grim reality: as soon as routine would set in again, as soon as he would return to his duties in the south, there was no telling of what would happen to her!

He had no doubt that she would be in danger for as long as she was in Gilneas. Not from any Horde assassins or Deathstalkers, who wouldn't count on chance that she was already dead, but in form of worgen! Gharion knew that, as soon as he would leave her side for a longer term, she would either end up chained in the dungeons or dead in one of those countless shadowy alley ways of Gilneas City. And nobody would bother to investigate, or even feel sorry for her. Of course, many worgen, especially those who had been her patients, would have an eye on her in his absence. But as time would go by, old habits would return, and with them the deep seated mistrust against any stranger.

If she would die due to an "accident", they would shrug it off. They would remember the strange blood elf, yes, they would write songs and poems about her deeds, having a toast in her name. But it was more comfortable to deal with a dead legend than a living one.

And what about taking her along with him and his future pack on their patrols? As part of their unit, she could earn their trust and with them maybe some acceptance among the other worgen, given it enough time... – He shook his head. Old habits were a thorn in your side, many thorns in fact; there was no way his elf could do anything to earn the other worgens trust, not to mention friendship. Even Martha had withdrawn from them since Marty's awakening, and so had the other alchemists. It had only taken two days to make them change their mind from curious and grateful, to suspicious and weary. They even felt ashamed of themselves to have worked with a Horde member, unable to save their poisoned soldiers on their own.

Leaning against the wall, Wallace exhaled slowly. This was much like the situation he had been in when he and Seraphita first came to Gilneas City. He remembered well, how he had searched his brain for any way to keep his elf out of reach of the worgen, or any Alliance for that matter. However, this was much more difficult since everybody within and outside the city knew about his elf, her looks, her smell. It would be impossible to smuggle her out and off to safety, wherever that could be anyway. Sure, she could create a protective barrier, where she would be save, but that would be the same as being locked into prison: save and alive, yes, but wanted even by the most gentle worgen.

_I can't protect her forever... and if she raises just one finger, to protect herself, they'll be upon her within seconds. And happy to get rid of her, too._

He could not blame his fellow kin. Only mere weeks ago, he would have been the first to strike against a blood elf, no matter the circumstances. Elves, especially blood elves, where not to be trusted! Treacherous and false, it was saver to kill them and not waste another thought on their worthless existence. On the contrary, it was appreciated by the Alliance, and even many Horde members, if a blood elf was killed.

_If I leave her here, it won't take more than a week for Marty and the City Guard to find some hilarious excuse to get their hands on her... And if I take her with me, my own comrades will doubt me and my loyalty. They will kill her in order to "save" me... "help" me, to get back to my senses..._

He was aware of Martin Blackthorns aversion against the elf. His old friend had a very clear idea of the world, a simple one: Worgen were your friends, Alliance were your allies, sometimes friends, too, and anything else wasn't worth to walk this world. Not even his illness and being saved by a blood elf had changed anything about that view, and Gharion doubted very much that anything would. He himself needed days, weeks, in an isolated place, locked up with Seraphita to accept, that at least not all blood elves were worthless magic-addicts. So, how could he expect that his friend and others of his kin would change their mind within days? And in view of the challenges ahead of them, in the face of war and death, die they have the luxury to doubt each other?

Soundlessly opening the door to their dormitory, he entered, not surprised to see her pacing up and down, awaiting his return. Was Marty probably right? Did she have some big hidden plan this whole time? – No, of course not, but they both were in danger, and he was about to overstretch his own influence. Genn was far away in Stormwind, so playing that stupid but useful "royal-king-pin"-card wouldn't help forever... Now that Martin was back, he would be recovered soon, and Wallace knew, he was on his own now.

Two callings, almost ripping him apart. Part of him wanted to hold her close to his heart and never let her go. That part wanted to feel her warmth, hear her laugh, even wanted to witness her power, which he knew she had. And the pack? Who cared about that stubborn, narrow-minded bunch?

The other part, that seemed to get stronger and stronger with every passing day, wanted to remain with his pack, his brothers and sisters of blood and fate. It wanted to partake in the hunt and make all those Horde bastards pay for what they have done to him, to all of them. This other part of him didn't want the elf to get hurt, either, but it also knew that there was no way she could stay with him and keep the freedom she desired, not even that little bit she had now.

Additionally, he couldn't just let her go. If she would leave, the Forsaken would get her and make her talk about everything she knew, and Gharion had to admit, she knew a lot – because of him: he had shared every thought and doubt with her. If set loose somewhere, the Horde would find her, they had their agents everywhere. And with them, the Forsaken wouldn't be far. And she would talk, about everything, no matter if she wanted or not.

For Lights sake, he had responsibilities! He couldn't allow that!

She hadn't noticed him yet, as the door closed behind him. She was murmuring again, some strange habit she must have developed in her youth, he assumed; due to her own talking, she also didn't hear him locking the door and slipping into shadows.

Was a puppies love reason enough to forsake his duty for his country, his pack? Wasn't it better to just... kill her himself and finish this whole tryst, and the danger she embodied? The city, the whole Alliance, would cheer upon him, valuing him for tricking a Horde member into helping them... He would hate himself for the rest of his life, but he would be content in knowing, that what he did would save them, and her from much more pain...

She still hadn't noticed anything. She stopped pacing, but still the murmurs went on. He knew, she was heavily traumatized by what happened to her in the Cathedral, and now that all her patients were either cured or dead, she was isolated. The Alliance had gained much in the short time she had been here, sharing part of her knowledge about potions. They were probably better prepared now if the Forsaken would use a chemical weapon against them again...

No, the Forsaken wouldn't use the same strategy twice… And besides, she had done all of it because he asked her, because she loved him.

His daggers had found their way in his hands. Why did she style her hair today? Except for a lone lock, her mane was pinned onto her head... Obviously, she had been bored this morning, all alone while he had been with the commanders, and too afraid to leave their suite since she wasn't needed anymore... But it left her neck bare to his poisoned blades.

One quick stab in her neck, between the bones; it would severe her spine. She wouldn't feel anything, she would be dead before she would realize it. He wouldn't let her hit the ground, he would catch her fall. He already felt his heart clench as he crept closer; melted into the shadows like the predator he was trained to be, he was close enough to see the rise and fall of her slender chest. He counted her breathing... Now he could see single hairs, laying smoothly on her head, shimmering and artfully braided, the single lock laying almost lovingly around her white neck – she had probably played with it... He would keep it, as a memory of the most wondrous time of his life.

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><p>There was no reason, really. She just turned around, only to see the flashing of razor sharp blades and his golden eyes. She couldn't cry; to run didn't even cross her mind, as he grabbed her face, still holding those deadly weapons, and kissed her.<p>

There was no tenderness in this kiss as she was shoved against the wall behind her, his hands clawing into her hair, she could clearly feel his sharp nails digging into her head. This was vicious, brutal even, and the blades pressed against her skin. A small voice in her head shrieked in panic; those daggers were poisoned!

Never before since they set out together would she have imagined, she would ever think of fighting him. But now, she thrashed against his rock hard body, trying in vain to get free of his merciless grip. Memories of a night not so long ago in an abandoned house many nights ago, flooded her mind. But this was no beast assaulting her, this was Rion, _her _Rion.

How could she fight him, as she almost did back then? This was not about power, this was about them!

_He is going to kill me!_

He broke the kiss just as brutal as he had started it, his hands still clamping on her head. Breathing hard, he pressed his forehead against hers, eyes shut tightly. Breathless, she didn't dare to do or say anything, moments stretched into eternity, before he shook his head. With a _clang _his daggers fell to the ground.

Flashing gold pierced her violet eyes, as he met her wide stare. "May the Light be my witness, but I cannot kill you," he breathed into her face. His arms came around her in a steel-like embrace, almost rending her from any air. Nails dug into her neck and back, Phin was petrified on the spot.

Why would he want to kill her? What happened in the meeting? Did the other commanders wanted him to finish her?

Well, yes, she did know a thing or two about the going-on's in the city now... The Horde would lick their fingers to get those information's from her... Yet, after what happened during the last battle, they wouldn't simply ask her. – She shuttered.

Like a mind of their own, her arms rose and embraced him, closing the imaginary line drawn by her initial fear. The day they entered the city, her mind was plagued by doubts about what could happen. The possibility, that he could lead her into a trap and worse... And her stubborn resolve: if she would die that day, than she would cry –

_But I would not fight to kill him. _Just as he couldn't do to her, even if many reasons would promote it...

He was hers, and she was his. Their fates were bound together, without the two of them realizing it. But the bond was there, strong like iron and unbreakable like a flood.

Things in the city got in motion since... the _Monster _was awake. Yes, she had noticed the changing wind – how could she not? She was neither blind nor ignorant; she had realized how those, she had worked with these last weeks, avoided her now, shunning her presence, even hurriedly leaving a room the moment she entered. The best way to ensure her absence though, was to simply change into a worgen form; she still couldn't bear to see them, even though her fears and panic attacks had lessened.

It really wasn't so much out of place, that he considered killing her. Somehow she even felt peace by the idea that she would meet her demise at his hands. That thought was... comforting. She was still the enemy after all, she had not forgotten about that; and what about him? He was a powerful warlord of the Alliance, an inspiring leader. They needed him here. But she needed him, too! If she was dead, however, he would be free... Yes, he would be better off, if she was dead... or gone.

But where could she go, _if _she would manage to leave? Into the mountains, hiding in a cave? Sure, she could disappear from the world for a while, simply withdrawing, and let them solve their own problems. She could let them destroy themselves. She would be up there, alone... None of her friends would know where she was. Oh, how disappointed they must be, when they heard about what she had done. Would they forgive her? Selenay might understand; though a Blood Knight, she had many human-friends among the Argent Crusade... But what about others, like Ardeth? He was a Forsaken, and even though he disagreed with his people on almost any occasion, treason would be something he would never support. Maybe if she simply explained things how they really were... they would understand...

No, she couldn't. Telling them could get them in danger, too. And so she probably had to... hide in a cave... isolated for the next... probably one or two hundred years. She could mingle with other mortals if she disguised herself... Unfortunately that didn't work for worgen. She would not know, how Rion would fare. She wouldn't know if he got hurt again... or if he would merry somebody else? Maybe raising a family... getting old, forgetting all about her... dying in a remote castle...

_I can't do that! _– She griped him tighter. Was she selfish enough to stay with him? To fight for him, even if that meant danger to both of them? Even if he would end up as an outcast, a deserter, maybe even a traitor? With WANTED-pamphlets all over Azeroth, saying "dead or alive"?

Standing on her toes, burying her face in the nape of his neck, she inhaled his scent. _That I can do._

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><p>Do I have to write "sir" with a main-letter?<p> 


	22. Chapter 22

You know, it's funny how other people take things differently from your own point of view…

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><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

Strong winds were rattling at the roof, howling as it raced through the streets of Gilneas City. It was raining again – of course it was. This was Gilneas after all. Heavy drops clattered against the high windows of their room, at least the two windows still intact... How late was it now? Given the pitching darkness outside, it must be after midnight by now...

Broken, that was the right term. She felt broken. Smashed to the ground and broken into a thousand pieces, like glass. Weeks ago she had awaken feeling quite similar, and just like back then, she felt content with it, relishing in that warm fuzzy feeling after having sex. Even those two furry arms around her couldn't upset her anymore. It seemed that with her being broken by him once again, her fear was destroyed in the process as well – and she didn't miss it!

A few hours ago, when Rion had sneaked into their room with the simple intention to kill her, she was in one of her panic-phases. The other alchemists had made it clear, though not with words, that she was no longer desired in their midst's, no longer needed. There were still some patients, who needed a healer's attention, but they were no longer in grave danger; some simple potions and time would do the trick. She, Seraphita, and her counter-potions were not required, and she had realized very fast that that meant, that her sheer presence was suddenly undesirable – just the moment she thought, things would turn to her favor at last...

However, for two days now she had not left this room; with only some nonsense novels in the back, she was hardly able to keep her mind from picturing the most horrible things. Whenever Rion would be gone to fulfill his duties as Acting Commander of Gilneas City, she would be up here, alone with her torturing mind and nothing to _do_.

And then he came back after hours from that meeting today. She didn't even have the time to be relieved, that her solitude was finally over; she only saw those blades aimed at her neck. And then that kiss, which wasn't even a kiss... well, not the kind of kiss one would long for. Even after hours she could still feel it on her lips, her very bones. His words had filled her with dread, yet the same time she was overwhelmed by joy. He loved her! He loved so her so much, he wouldn't even harm her if it was for the benefit of his people – and by now she knew all too well how strong the bond was between worgen and pack. Part of her felt a little ashamed that she would actually stand between him and his friends, but then again, this was worth it.

After his words, shredding clothes followed. It was so easy to forget how strong he was, even in his human form, since he was always doing anything to not hurt her – which he easily could. But not this time. As if he wanted to make her see, what kind of a creature he really was. He tore open both their clothes, the violence behind it scaring her even more than the fact that he was suddenly growing, _changing_.

Her panic skyrocketed, as the transformation finished. Her heart was racing, her breath hitched, she almost didn't realize what was actually happening while she only saw that huge furry monster right before her. She was thrown onto the bed, sailing weightless through the air for a tiny moment, and even before she saw that it was the bed, he was upon her. _The beast_, the beast she knew he truly was!

Immediately pictures of the Monster returned in new intriguing colors. Again she felt her insides being ripped by claws, again she felt canine phallus's thrusting into her unwilling body, the pain and humiliation increasing with each passing moment...

Yet, something was different. Here was a worgen about to ravage, to violate her, and yet... her panic didn't linger, it vanished. The pictures of her torment dissolved, and she became aware of the scent, that was engulfing her. A scent so familiar, reminding her of a another time when claws and fur did not mean agony and shame. And she did remember it, remember him. And her body responded.

The only pain, she felt this time, was the moment her insides where stretched beyond their normal capacity, when he shoved himself into her. After that, there was only bliss and the knowledge that they were about to renew their pact. At some point she sat in his lap, her fingers digging into his fur, as they moved in unison. His claws raked her skin, that held no traces of her torment in the Cathedral anymore; yet, now he was leaving new marks, and she loved it.

Tongues touched, the equivalent to the sensual kisses she thought she would miss, and they were lost in this moment of ecstasy which would last for hours to come.

Slowly she turned inside the cage of his arms, silently observing his face. It was relaxed for the first time in weeks. The strain of the last days, with spies and other dangers lurking in every corner, was clearly visible, though. She had heard, that worries and sorrow could drain a human off his life-force, that they died earlier than usual. And humans already had a shorter life compared to an elf... Could she bear to see him wither and die, right before her eyes?

A smile crept over her face as she brushed lightly over his fur. If that meant, she would spent many wonderful years with him, oh yes, she could.

Golden eyes flew open, meeting her gaze while her hand stayed at his cheek, still stroking the soft silk-like fur there. These were moments which turned into another eternity, negating the rules of time. And yet they lasted just for a few moments.

Tenderly touching her cheek with the back of his claws, he said, "We have to leave."

She nodded. "I know."

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><p>Someone was making a tantrum outside in the corridor. Martha? Why would she do that, since he hadn't done anything the last hours except sleeping – and she had ordered that herself. Prying his eyes open, Blackthorn stemmed himself upright. Cursed be this weakness! The poison might be cured, but the weakness stayed. It had taken Gharion more than a week to finally recover from the incident with the Execution Unit of the Forsaken. At least his own chances of recovering were appealing: two days, and today he could already start his first exercising. Things looked good...<p>

"What's going on?" he grumbled, pleased to hear that his voice had improved. Getting up, he also realized that standing took much less effort as it did the day before. He groaned. If he would have managed to do that at the meeting yesterday, he wouldn't have made such a pathetic impression as he did...

Stepping outside the corridor he was greeted with wide eyes and sudden silence. Martha, of course, with two soldiers.

"If it isn't something, everybody can laugh about, then I want to know why you make so much noise," he demanded grumpily.

Martha was a moment speechless, before she got her voice back. "You still need your rest, and these idiots think, their news can't wait another hour."

Never go and discuss with a medic – you can only lose. It made him wonder, why he married this particular one... On the other hand, he had been asking this at least every couple of hours since their marriage, which was nine months ago. Almost a year. Hopefully she didn't expect him to buy any exotic presents... Of course she would!

At her words, he gave an irritated snarl, waving off her comment. "What going on?" he asked the other two.

"It's Duke Wallace, Sir," the first panted. They both seemed to be simple servants within the manor. "He's nowhere to be found, and –"

"Which is no surprise," Blackthorn grumbled impatiently. "If he wants his peace, he won't let you find him."

"It's not just that," the man interrupted, still catching his breath. "Miss Moonshadow is missing as well!"

Moonshadow? Moonshadow... Yes, he had heard that name before, didn't he?

"The elf!" the man cried. "The elf is missing, too! And Duke Wallace left this message."

Pulling a small piece of paper out of his pocked, the soldier passed it to the Commander. Blackthorn, feeling hollow upon the countless emotions which filled him at once, took the paper, his expression blank. Looking down at the writing, he immediately recognized Gharions writing style, narrow and steep. It was the writing of someone, who was taught, that writing in itself was an art of beauty, which was beyond the simple necessity of messaging. This was the way, nobles wrote, and these sharp loops where Gharions – Blackthorn had seen them often in the past in countless reports... They were a miniature of how his friend used to wield his favorite weapon:

_-Do not follow us.-_

In the end, boiling rage and limitless hatred were the two feelings which lingered. "Since when are they missing?" he asked, his tone many tones colder, making the others shiver under his glare.

"When the Duke didn't come downstairs around noon, we went to check on him – he always let us report to him around that time. When we got there, all rooms, he and Miss Moonshadow occupied these days, were empty. We only found that message." The messenger paused a moment. "We already searched the rest of the house, asked around, in the laboratory, too. Miss Moonshadow hasn't been out for two or three days, and nobody has seen Master Wallace, since he left the meeting yesterday around midday."

So, the she-elves name was Moonshadow. Blackthorn remembered the little interrogation now; Seraphita Moonshadow it was, an arcanist of Silvermoon with some strange assignment to investigate something... Ah yes, she was sent to observe the Plague. Strange, if she would want to investigate that, she would go to the Undercity, where these bonebags had created it. This elf was trickier, than he had given her credit for... and she had kidnapped his friend! No doubt, Gharion was still in the witches claws! Somehow she must have put a spell on him and made him write that piece of crap!

And what, if he wasn't...? – Ridiculous! That would mean that Wallace had left freely, and why, on Azeroth, would he do that? Sure, he was no assigned soldier; he always wanted to keep his independence. But he was needed here; he wouldn't just leave like that...

Blackthorn frowned. Yes, it must be the elf then, that Blood Witch. She thought, she could trick him, him and all Gilneans. She acted nice, even "helped", but that was just a farce. Even, that she was a bad liar must have been part of some bigger plan. She wanted to get Wallace to the Banshee Queen. Yes, that made sense! The Forsaken failed to kill him the first time, and now the Blood Witch wanted to finish it. That must have been her plan all along!

Returning to present, Blackthorn regarded the soldiers with a hard stare. "Go and get a message to High-Commander Wyrmbane," he said, pointing one of his claws at the first messenger. "Tell him, I want his agents to gather intelligence about a blood elf named Seraphita Moonshadow. When she was born, who trained her, where she's from, her whole biography. We need to know our enemy."

Turning to the other, he continued. "Second, I want at least five search troops, let by the remaining Guardians and their packs – I want volunteers. They'll search the whole city, to find out which way that bitch has taken. We have to get on their trail." When he was finished, he didn't need to say another word, both worgen raced off immediately.

As they left his sight, Blackthorn felt drained, suddenly exhausted despite his improved conditions. He didn't even protest, when Martha gingerly took his arm, to guide him back to his bed. _The Blood Witch gonna wish, she'd never set a foot into Gilneas!_

* * *

><p>No matter the urgency of the cause, Martha was persistent as usual that day. However, when he said that he wouldn't do the searching himself yet, she resigned and only made him promise to work from his office for the rest of the day. Coordination didn't require his presence after all.<p>

The search parties were the easy part in this. Getting information about the Blood Witch was much more difficult when Wyrmbane stated, that he had "too much to do" with the recent spy-infection. It had taken Blackthorn every ounce of patience and diplomacy to get at least some agents to investigate. In the end he was more than satisfied, that said agents were from the SI:7 Department in Stormwind. True, the fact that there were Worgen-Spies among them, was unsettling, but this couldn't wait! Who knew what horrible fade his friend awaited at the hands of that Blood Witch?

Contented for the moment, he leaned back in his armchair, still only in those leathers and woolen cloak. If SI:7 would investigate, than he would have his information soon. This was no every-day-elfie, she was a potion master with close ties to the Undercity, a powerful mage, too, who could even cast spells while wearing a mage-bane-collar – something unheard of until now. Those details and her name (well, given the hope, that it was her real name) should be a good start for further investigation. And till he got his answers, he would turn over every rock to find them.

Blackthorns eyes wandered over the large map on his desk. Which route could she have taken? With which destination? Gharion had done a pretty good job in securing the city with the few forces he had as his disposal, every district of the capital was covert. Even the security traps in the small alleys had been partially re-established.

The fastest way to get them both out of the city and to the north, would be via the Cathedral Quarter, over the bridge there and into the Northgate Woods. Or the northern Headlands, both was possible. And what about the tunnel...? – Skimming through the reports, Blackthorn sighted in relieve. _Well done, my friend, you re-installed the doors security as well. _So if the traps there haven't sounded any alarm, than the tunnel was unused. However, he would sent somebody down there to check.

Anything else? Gilneas City had only four exits (and the tunnel)... and the channels. She could have taken a swim; she was a good swimmer of what he had been told... And under water, they were both barely visible, especially during the night.

And what if she aimed for the coast? Blackthorn knew of the magical shield, placed over Gilneas by many powerful mages from both sides, and which prevented any teleportation into or out of the peninsula. So the Blood Witch only needed to get beyond this invisible shield, to teleport both herself and Gharion to the Undercity. And the shortest way would be... to the east... But that was also a vast open route, no rocks or wood to find cover.

The Blood Witch had to expect that the whole capital would be after her, the moment her escape would be a noticed. She would probably run like hell, to get away. – His claws dug into the wooden table. No, of course she wouldn't run, she would let her captive do all the work. Surely she would _ride _on his back!

But why all the trouble? If she only wanted to kill him, why dragging him through the country? A more sinister thought took hold of him: if she went through all this, than killing him wasn't what she had in mind for him... She wanted him alive! – Blackthorn felt as if his insides would revolt the very thoughts, his mind just came up with...

He tore himself off of them, before his last meal would find itself on his desk. Panting he sat back, leaning heavy against the wood. Maybe... maybe the Forsaken had him captive and left him with her. But Gharion managed to escape her and returned to the city. He might have wanted to warn them from the immanent attack. And then the Blood Witches call! Of course, it all fitted! That was why Gharion was so upset and wanted him to investigate!

Cursing, Blackthorn swept the parchments off his desk, burying his face in his palms. Of course, now it made sense! And he was too blind to see it! Gharion recognized the voice of the Blood Witch, whom he thought he had just escaped from. And she tricked them all, so they would feel save around her. She had probably renewed some spell she already had on Gharion, or had put on a new one. She let him do everything he would usually do, that way nobody got suspicious...

But now he, Blackthorn, was awake, and with all the Alliance commanders in the city, the Blood Witch might have gotten nervous and decided that now or never was the time to make her move!

Yes! That was it! Oh, how he wished to have that bitch in his claws already... He would make sure, she would wear mage-banes all over and then he would make her pay for everything! He wouldn't kill her, death would be too merciful for her. No, he would slowly torture her to death, and if she was about to die, he would call the healers to fix her – and then he would start the game all over again, and again...

"Don't you think, you overreact," a voice tore him from his gloom. Blinking, Blackthorn looked into the worried face of his wife. Looking at her was enough to calm him again. Yes, that had been one of many reasons, why he had married her: even if she could be terribly annoying, most of the time she just made him feel better with her sheer presence.

But her words left him puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She came closer, sitting on the desk facing him. "I mean, that Gharion is a powerful man with a strong mind," she stated. "I cannot believe, that he can be bewitched by a blood elf. I have worked with her for two weeks, I barely left her side. Even if she is of the Horde, I can hardly imagine her to be able of what you think she did."

Blackthorn shook his head stubbornly. "It's just part of that game of hers, trust me," he grumbled, starring at the pile of parchments on the ground before he turned back at his wife. "You see, she had planed the whole time, to get Gharion out of here somehow. I bed, Sylvanas must have some hideous plan for him... That bitch had us all fooled from the beginning! By now she might have gotten who knows where." Again he buried his face, this time in her lap.

Sighting helplessly, Martha patted his back while stroking his head. "Don't worry," she said, trying to raise his spirits, while keeping her doubts to herself. "Remember, _if _Gharion had been under her control before and got free of it, then... well, you know him. He might just do it again."

* * *

><p>It was late this evening. Martha hadn't bothered him with any more claims the rest of the day, and he was thankful for it. How was he supposed to find any rest now, anyway, while his friend was about to face something worse than death?<p>

"The elf has left a big part of her belongings," one of his researchers said this moment. "We found this, among other things." Holing a little piece of paper is front of his face, he started to read:

"- _To Seraphita Moonshadow, High-Arcanist of Silvermoon._

_By order of the Warchief, you are hereby summoned to Grommash Hold in Orgrimmar for a special assignment. Refusal will be classified as treason._

_You will be expected the day you receive this._

_Hellscream is watching you, sister. – Kor'kron Master Bileblade._-"

Blackthorn took the letter and read over it himself. It didn't say anything about the "assignment", but at least he now knew that her name was true – if this letter wasn't some kind of distraction...

"We know about the Kor'kron, who wrote this," the investigator said. "Our SI:7 friends have been very helpful. They say, this orc, Bileblade, is Garrosh's spymaster, kind of the equivalent to Master Mathias Shaw in Stormwind. He is new to the task, though, as far as SI:7 knows. He came into this position when Hellscream became Warchief and started his "orcisation"..."

Blackthorn gave a dismissive wave. "I'm not interested in any Horde spymaster, I want to know about this _one _spy," he grumbled. He tried to breathe as calm as possible, to steady his heartbeat – the more agitated he became, the sooner he got exhausted, and that wasn't something he wanted to risk right now. _Plenty of time to get into frenzy when you have that Blood Witch_, he thought.

"According to our informants," the researcher went on, "Moonshadow is originally of the so called Farstriders in Quel'Thalas. She started her carrier as a ranger and changed her profession to become a mage at an early age. Unfortunately, that's all to find about her past. She is almost seven hundred years old, which is old even for a blood elf. We also couldn't find any record about who might have been her master, but she was till the Third War an Archmage of Dalaran, where she had been a mentor herself. It is also said, that she had contact to a group named "Council of Tirisfal", but there is no proof that she had been a member there."

"Good," Blackthorn interrupted. "But can you confirm, that the elf, you're talking about, is indeed the one, we are looking for here?"

The researcher blinked at first, then nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said. "We even have a copy of a portrait of her from Dalaran. If she doesn't have a twin sister, it's her."

Blackthorn leaned back. That little summary didn't really sound like the elf he met, he had to admit. And what if she had killed the real Seraphita Moonshadow and stole her identity?

"After the war, she left Dalaran and joined her people, who became the Blood Elves," the researcher continued. "She traveled to Outland at the side of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider later joined a man named Rommath and returned with him and some others to Silvermoon. During the Northrend Campaign, Moonshadow fought on many fronts, though never assigning permanently to the Horde Forces. There are rumors in Dalaran, that she has close connections to the Blue Dragonflight despite the Nexus War; however, it's not confirmed."

"And the Forsaken?" Blackthorn asked insistent. "Did you find anything about her connections to them?"

"Nothing specific, Sir. She did fight with them in Northrend, but she did not develop closer ties to them than she had with den Warsong Offensive. Aside from that we found out, that she, even before the Blood Elves officially joined the Horde, worked in the Apothecary of the Undercity for a year or two. We do not know, what she did there since it is impossible to send any scouts down there…"

Cursing, Blackthorn clawed his paws into his armchair. _Blast! _There was a connection, and everything was pointing out that it was there in the Apothecary. That made sense: she probably befriended the Forsaken there and supported their work. That would explain how she was able to make those counter-potions.

Exhaling, he looked up again. "All right, and what did our search troops find?"

Another soldier stepped forwards. "Due to the rain, our trackers couldn't get any specific trails," he said. "We know, that they took some supplies from the kitchen and left the house through the manor's backdoor..."

Blackthorn swore under his breath. "And please tell me, why didn't anyone see them or hear anything?" he demanded. How was is possible, that the Blood Witch could simply slip them? After all, Gharion wasn't exactly what you would call an undersized worgen...

"I'm afraid, sir, they have been... not as alert as they should have been," the soldiers said slowly, hesitating under the Commanders glare. "Moonshadow chose the time rather well, they left the city right before the guards shift..."

"I don't want any excuses," Blackthorn snarled, his claws digging ever deeper into the armrests. "What's did they find outside?"

Clearing his throat, the man continued. "Due to the rain, our trackers couldn't find any specific traces anymore," he said. "Scents and tracks are diluted by now. However, they have reason to believe, that our targets left to the south, to Tempest Reach."

"What makes them think, she took that route?"

"Some of the searchers have checked the surrounding terrain outside the city. One tracker thought he could smell them, but he wasn't sure 'cause of the rain. But it's so far the best we could get."

Tempest Reach. Blackthorn stood up, to take a better look at the map on his desk. The small enclave was in the south east of Gilneas. It had been there, where the traitor Godfrey tried to kidnap King Greymane to sell him to the Forsaken. He wanted to make a peace treaty with the Horde and take over reign as a hero, who didn't only show the worgen the place they belonged according to him, but also who made peace with the Horde and therefore ensured the independence of Gilneas. Godfrey later joined the Forsaken, who had risen him and two of his closer allies – he would rather side with the enemy than accept a worgen as his king!

And Tempest Reach was also close to the coast, a line of high cliffs many miles long. But it was also a short way to get past the shield... And the Blood Witch was a mage, who could glide without effort through the air, probably with another person at hand, too. She would simply walk over the waves and cross the border...

Being silent for another few moments, he straightened up again. "I want a proper pack ready before dawn," he ordered. "We will go to Tempest Reach."

* * *

><p>Let the hunt begin *muahaha*<p> 


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Halford Wyrmbane grumbled when he heard the new orders from the capitals Commander. If that wasn't a fast shift of priorities...

He sighted while putting away the report, he just finished reading. It was not that he didn't understand Blackthorn, but on the other hand, the man, this whole trouble was about, had a unique status, and if he wanted to he could leave at any given moment. To simply say, that he stood under some kind of mind-control... Wyrmbane shook his head. These worgen were strange people, that was for sure.

But he knew, the heat-head, who was his worgen-partner in Gilneas City, would be no-good for anything unless he knew for sure what happened to his friend. – Typical worgen. That pack-thing was great, but he, Wyrmbane, preferred to put his bet on the loyalty and obedience of his soldiers. Both were much more reliable.

He was glad though, that not all worgen rushed off to find a man, who probably didn't want to be found. One of them was Captain Whitebrow, who had been here since a couple of days, looming over countless reports about every worgen soldier in Gilneas. She could have done that in the capital in her own office, but the danger that the spies got tipped off, would endanger what little advantage they had – that danger was much smaller here. Now the Captain and some of both their soldiers skimmed through countless pages, a constant rustle in the back.

Wyrmbane exhaled. Speaking about worgen, who couldn't simply wait things out: he himself would have never found the patience as Whitebrow did to get done with the paperwork...

Good thing, that there were more worgen in Gilneas like Gharion Wallace, who simply waited and observed – and more than once finding things hilariously amusing. If Wallace knew what a fuss Blackthorn made about him... well, Wyrmbane knew for sure, that the gilnean king's nephew would double from laughing.

And what about the blood elf, the reason of Blackthorn's paranoia? Wyrmbane shook his head in amusement. That must be one hell of a lady, if she could freak out all these wolfs…

* * *

><p>His dark plate felt heavier than he remembered it, but manageable. Somehow he was disappointed that Martha didn't try to talk his plan out of his head. When he demanded his armor, she just raised a brow; no word, no sarcastic commend. Somehow he missed it; her silent disapproval bothered him, yet he didn't linger with those gloomy thoughts.<p>

So, the Blood Witch was one day and one night ahead of them. Till Tempest Reach one usually need something about two, three days. She was in a hurry, but even a worgen couldn't run at high speed without some rest. Gharion might be exhausted already, forcing her to slow down. And then she also didn't know the exact paths to the coast, she could be forced to make some detours...

Except for himself, everyone else was in best physical shape. Blackthorn would ride a nightsaber, he borrowed from an Alliance soldier, that way he wouldn't slow them down. The cool air announcing a new morning and the sparkling rain flared his spirit, and after his long illness he felt alive again.

The volunteers, who accompanied him, where Captain Bruce of the City Guard, and three of the remaining Outer Guardians, Layla Dorington, Laurence Wildheart and Henry the Frenzied. All of them knew the area in question like their own pockets. Waiting for him stood three packs. Each of them with seasoned warriors and a few healers, but, and that was more important, accompanied my mages. If the worgens noses would fail to track the Blood Witch, the mages would sense her magic.

Greeting them with a short wave, Blackthorn spoke, "I will not bore you with long speeches, especially since you know, how much I hate them." Some snickers answered. "You all know, who is our target, but this I want to repeat: Who ever will find the elf, will disarm and secure her. As for Wallace, I'm afraid he could be under a spell. If he makes any trouble, disarm him as well. And don't listen to whatever they may say, the elf will try everything to manipulate you, so be on your guard. Move out!"

Blackthorn would take ten warriors with him and ride along the mainroad to Tempest Reach, the others would split up and swarm the area. They would chase the Witch and in time surround and catch her. A sounded plan, and with howls they would stay in touch. Maybe Gharion would hear them and know, that they were about to save him...

* * *

><p>There! There they were. Footsteps, made by light feet, almost invisible on the soft rainsoaked earth. And next to them the footprints of a worgen – a very tall worgen, yet with swift steps which barely left a print. Blackthorn smirked; she was indeed in a hurry, obviously she didn't care much about being stealthy after leaving the city, she was counting on speed now – and that way she would lose.<p>

They had been traveling for one day now – even during the night they hadn't stopped. Only a few little halts for eating and drinking, more wasn't needed for them to refresh themselves from hours of running and searching.

Originally he was supposed to take the mainroad, but he had the Witches scent in his nostrils. He would be damned if he would leave her trail again. He was no Tracker himself, but Blackthorn knew her unmistakable smell. It was a nice smell, he already observed weeks ago, it could intoxicate a man... No wonder she could charm Wallace so easily; a woman's scent was not be underestimated, especially if the male in question was a worgen. – The more he thought about it, the more Blackthorn started to look forward to see and _smell_ her again. Her scent, while being scared to death, had it's worth...

It was around midday now; according to the tracks they came closer still. The Blood Witch started with one day ahead and they were already closing in. If they kept their speed up like this, they would reach the coast within the next day – and before the Witch would...

"I guess something about eight hours, Sir," Wildheart sneered. The one-eyed worgen had good reason to join, as Blackthorn knew: he hated elves, even night elves were low in his books. And since disliking them was bad style, he saved everything else for blood elves and the Forsaken.

"Good," the Commander nodded, and to the other soldiers he said: "We will stop here. Rest while you can, we have one hour." What bothered him, was that they still had no idea, how Wallace and his captor left the city. Their tracks and scent just disappeared right outside the backdoor of the manor, and then suddenly re-appeared in the near country-side. The mages said, that she could have used an invisibility spell, but those were limited to the caster only, the spell did not affect any other person. Anyway, if that one lucky Tracker hadn't noticed that broken branch, he would probably still ponder over which way she might have taken...

But the little amateur didn't make use of her advantage! Eight hours, and she started with twenty hours ahead of them... Yes, she was sly and sleek as a snake, but obviously she lacked other qualities, like knowing when it was the time to hurry the hell up. Well, all the better for him!

* * *

><p>"Wake up, Phin!" a voice commanded. "It's just a dream."<p>

With a cry she tore her eyes open, away from the nightmare, which had taken hold of her. Blinking wildly, she tried to return to the real world. Over her, a surprisingly bright sky shone through some naked branches of a lone a tree she had slept under. Oh yes, she remembered. The second day after their escape; she had run like never before in her life. To leave the city, she had taken them both into invisibility. Since there were only a few guards in the city left, they were able to avoid mages and bigger patrols. The moment they stepped outside the capital gates, they ran. They ran for hours; sometimes he simply picked her up, wanting nothing else then to get as much space between them and their soon-to-be pursuers.

"The moment Marty realizes that we're gone, he wouldn't sit idle by," Rion had said darkly while running. "He can be unbelievably dim-witted sometimes."

"And you're sure, we couldn't have just told them?" she asked doubtfully for the tenth time now while busy keeping up with his pace.

"No," he answered grimly. "If I'd told them, that I want to leave, there would be no objection – given that I would go alone. They wouldn't like it, but they hold no sway over me. You, on the other hand, are a completely different matter. You are Horde, and as a matter of fact, you're a prisoner. Marty is too much interested in you, and by that look of his whenever you are mentioned, I really advise you not to try and get more acquainted with him..."

Hearing that, she shuttered involuntarily. "You don't have to worry about that," she swallowed. "That bit of acquaintance with him I got, was already more than I'd asked for..."

By their next stop it was late afternoon, and Phin dropped asleep almost instantly, not bothering to eat or drink anything. During their running, her mind was most of the time blank. Only her feet and her pumping legs mattered, her pounding heart and the next breathe Anything else, that normally bothered her, waited at the border to her consciousness, ready to strike. And the moment she would enter the dreaming realm, _he _haunted her, the Monster, and he was already on their heels.

In her dream, she was all alone – Rion was nowhere to be found, probably "rescued" by his kin. She was on her own, the silvery shadow breathing down onto her neck, no matter how fast she ran.

The land around her became hostile, too. Pointy branches and roots started to grab for her, slowing her down, making her topple over.

Then the Monster was there, and all she knew was agony!

Memories of the Cathedral returned, interchanged with pictures created by her own evil mind. The pain was the same, but this time, it held a whole new dimension to her torture.

Her magic was gone, she was pinned, there was no escape. And over it all the Monster, not hiding the sinister pleasure he gained from her suffering. Finally, he had her in his claws, the Banshee Queens pawn. He would make her talk, and even if she would tell anything and everything, he wouldn't stop, he would never stop. Her pain would know no limits as medics stood by to do his bidding. She felt their healing touch whenever her excruciating misery would reach the border of what her mortal shell was capable of.

To know, that her treatment would never end, that she would be fixed whenever she died…

Her screech tore through the halls of her mind, echoing in her whole body.

Nowhere to hide, no escape. Pain everywhere…

But then, in the midst of her misery, a voice!

It spook in soothing words, she didn't understand them, but they were full of promises of an existence without pain… The voice came from outside her mind.

Yes, yesyesyes, this wasn't real! This was just a nightmare! A horrible nightmare, dreadful, but she could escape it. No matter the pain, no matter the Monsters angry snarls as his control over her slipped. _I must wake up! Wake up! Wake up!_

And then her eyes shot open, and above her waiting, the most dazzling face she had ever seen in her suddenly too long life.

She started crying all over, simply overwhelmed to have escaped her own evil fantasies. She wasn't free of the Monster! They would _never_ be free!

"Not yet," Rion whispered soothingly into her ear. "But soon we will."

She laughed out joylessly. She had spoken aloud again.

* * *

><p>"What do you make of it, Private?"<p>

"It looks very much like they have been sleeping here, Sir. We are close now. Maybe another two hours. Given the terrain and the clearing weather, we should be able to see them anytime soon."

Blackthorn straightened up, a satisfied grin stretching over his face. It seemed like the Blood Witch had to rest a lot; maybe this control-charm drained her physical powers. He had never heard of anything like that, but then again, he was no mage. But she must be in a poor state then, which would be their advantage…

It was dawning at the horizon. Just a short stop.

_Today, Witch_, he thought grimly. _Today your finished! You messed with the wrong worgen!_

* * *

><p>The following day after her nightmare was cool and clear, no fog at all for the first time in weeks. Tempest Reach rose from the cliffs in the distance, she would even see single windows…<p>

Never before did she wish it to be misty and clammy, but now she felt like a mouse in the field, trying to find cover from the eagle above – and there was no hole or anything to hide in. The moment she heard the first howls from behind, it felt as if her heart decided that it was better to simple stop beating already, she would die anyway all too soon… Why trying to run? To fight? There was no sense left in the simple desire to live… no hope… Today –

"And you're sure you've been in Northrend, fighting the Scourge?" Rion said half sardonically next to her, grabbing her arm. "I can't believe this is the first time you face impossible odds…" He grinned before turning. "Just imagine this to be the run of your life, with an army of mindless undead in your neck."

She gasped, barely able to keep up with his pace. "If you haven't noticed," she panted, "this actually _is _a run for my life! And the mindless army fits!"

At least there was no snow and ice here… Oh, these small favors…

* * *

><p><em>There! <em>He saw them.

Blackthorn pulled the reins of his nightsaber, eyes sparkling in glee to finally see his prey, even though only in a distance.

_Patience, boy, _he told himself. _Don't lose it now... _He had to keep his cool. If he let his soldiers rush off now and up the hill towards the cliffs, they wouldn't be in any shape to fight the Blood Witch. She would probably try her best to get to the cliffs; they had to surround her before that.

"Ready yourselves," he called. "Fan out, don't let them reach the cliffs! And be ready for anything; the Witch still is a powerful mage, so hold the collars at the ready. They should at least weaken her. As for Wallace..." he paused, taking a deep breath. "If he makes trouble, deal with him accordingly. Go!"

Pushing his saber into a canter, Blackthorn locked his eyes on the Blood Witch. Strange, he had expected her to take over lead, but it was Gharion, who dragged her along behind him. Obviously her mind control spell was so strong, he was determined to do her bidding. It just made him more furious!

Behind him were Wildheart and Captain Bruce, Layla and Henry would cover their flanks – they both just answered via howls to confirm their position. Only a little bit more and they would close into them, cutting off their way to the coast. And why, in Goldrinn's name, did he still ride a mount? He felt great again; for the first time in weeks, he didn't need a beast of burden, he could run himself!

To the surprise of his comrades, Commander Blackthorn suddenly jumped off his nightsaber, leaped on all forth and took over pursuit on his own. Feeling his claws digging into the soft mossy ground, feeling some single pebbles under his pads... Yes, this was hunting like it used to be: one with the pack, and they all had their part in it. They were chasing their prey, exhausting it. They didn't run at full speed yet, they were coming closer bit by bit. In a way of speaking, they were about to breathe onto their victim's neck…

There, the last howls. Henry was in position, ready for a direct assault. And there was Layla, right in position. – Grinning, already tasting his prey, Blackthorn dug the claws of his padded feet into the ground, his triumphant howl tearing through the air and up to the clouded sky. _Attack!_

Four hundred yards. They were racing now. Jumping lithely over rocks and boulders, Blackthorn could make out the Witches face. Licking his lips, he found himself delighted to see open fear and horror in her beautiful features. How much more fear she would express, if he would finally got his hands on her? He couldn't wait any longer.

Breaking off the formation his feet and paws carried him faster than ever before. He didn't even touch the ground anymore...

And now he saw Layla and Henry with their packs, racing down from the cliff. They got them! The Witch and Gharion halted, knowing that they were in a trap. _Stay calm, my friend_, Blackthorn thought, suddenly serious, _you will be free again soon_. – He wasn't surprised to see his friend bold to the right: the prey always tried to escape side wards if the way forwards appeared to be blocked. But they were surrounded, there was nowhere to run! Yes, fear hung in the air, the Witches fear. Could this even get any more exciting?

What? Did Wallace just shout something? Maybe he did, a last attempt of the Blood Witch to fool them, for sure. Blackthorn saw him sweeping the Witch over his shoulder like a heavy sack, leaping over some boulders and disappearing behind them. Probably a little basin or so... What was that? Why did Layla stop? And her pack, too? And what was it with Henry? He looked startled...

Feeling worry disturbing his confidence about this hunt, Blackthorn jumped over the boulders, just like he saw Gharion do it before. His breath got caught in his throat. Glaring at the two Guardians, he growled, "What is this? Where are they?" Gone. The Witch and Gharion were gone!? – Grabbing Henry at his collar, he shook the other worgen. "Where are Wallace and the Blood Witch? _Speak!_"

"I have no idea, Sir." Henry, commonly known as "the Frenzied", had his title for good reason – but now he looked just as lost as Blackthorn felt. "We saw Wallace jump over those boulders there, and then he and the elf both disappeared in midair!"

Letting go of the other, Blackthorn whirled around. "Mages!" he roared. "Where are these useless cross-dressers? Where are they? Speak up, you there! Where the fucking hell is our target? Where did that bitch disappear to?"

This was terrible! This was a disaster! What happened? She couldn't have disappeared just like that, and teleporting was out of the question – teleportation was impossible within an active warzone! Every pup knew that! But the facts where not to be doubted: the Blood Witch and Gharion Wallace had simply _disappeared_ right in front his very nose!

* * *

><p>Seraphita laid flat on her back, Gharion right beside her, both not stirring a muscle.<p>

Her previous horror still laid heavy on her like a cloak, yet it's hold over her lessened while she almost felt giddy seeing all those worgen running around, not understanding what just happened. Gharion, too, looked around, his golden eyes following the clueless worgen. They were laying in their very midst, and yet they couldn't see them, nor smell or hear them. It was very special, to say the least.

It had been Gharions last-minute-idea. The moment, he saw, that their way was blocked by the incoming packs, he told her to ready herself – to create her wards, and fast! First she thought, she hadn't heard right. Creating the wards became part of her very nature since she traveled Gilneas, but erecting them all within mere seconds? Did he lose his mind?

Emergencies had the tendency to make you resourceful: The moment, he gave the signal, she started casting the first shield, while he was still in midair from his jump over the boulder. She surprised herself as the next two wards seemed to create themselves. And the moment Rion touched the ground, the last protections were placed. Eight different wards, all of them with another function.

Now they both laid flat on the ground – unnoticed by anyone. Not even the mages could sense them now since one of her wards was specifically designed for that. And no one even realized, that they were actually walking right _through_ them...

Suddenly, Marty was there, almost going mad as he snarled as his comrades, making a tantrum himself while baring his fangs and making threads. However, to no use, nobody had any explanation of what happened here. – Following him with her eyes, Phin smiled silently. How strange; now that they were save, seeing the Commander didn't upset her anymore as it used to, not even after that horrible dream. Still tall and intimidating as he was, the shivers and phantom-pains she had the last weeks, had somehow left her...

At the rim of her vision, she wasn't aware that Rion suddenly seemed to shrink. Turning her head, to face him, she saw little golden smoke torrents rise from his form, until a man, and not a worgen, laid there beside her.

Regarding her, he gave a mischievous smile. "Honestly, I didn't expect this to work at all."

Phin blinked in surprise, before giggling. "Me, too," she agreed. Rolling half over him, she let her gaze wander over their unknowingly company.

Marty was now accusing her to do some strange, probably forbidden magic, maybe what they had seen before, had just been a mirage to fool them. Now he was commanding separate troops to search the area, to turn over every rock and to simply _find_ them. She shuttered though, as she watched him. The way, he spoke of her as "blood witch" made her insides coil in repulsion.

"He really hates me…" she wondered, resting her cheek against the chest under her; as expected two arms came around her. How could she have fooled herself over the last weeks, that she would somehow befriend her previous almost-abuser? Though traumatized and everything, she wanted to forgive him, for the sake of his and Rion's friendship. After all, what he did to her, was all because of his worry for his friend. There was nothing wrong with that…

But now, this same concern about his friend, obviously made him fanatical. He accused her to do things of which she hadn't even had any knowledge about. And that was the friendly way to put it…

"He does," Rion confirmed, his deep frown did not hide his disapproval about his friend. "It's his simple incapacity to see beyond his own world. After we evacuated Gilneas and re-settled in Darnassus, he almost immediately returned here to fight the Horde. As for me, I wanted to see the world. I traveled Azeroth with some new friends of the Alliance. Well, actually, they just dragged me along." He smiled upon the memory. "Maybe that experience helped me, to lessen my own prejudices against other races and nations…"

_And to accept me._

There was silence again. Both their eyes followed the worgen around them, who were still oblivious about them. There only a few left now, seven in a whole. Trackers probably, who sniffled around the boulders where they had last seen the Duke, before he had disappeared. The others, including Blackthorn, had turned back to where they had found the last unquestionable traces of them.

Once again, Phin mentally checked the wards, once again relieved that they were as solid as ever, despite the fact that they were placed in a rush. Normally she enchanted places with clear borders, like houses, she felt more secure inside of them, even if she knew, that it was just her imagination: no matter if she was in a house or in open space, her wards would work anyway.

"What do we do now?" she asked finally. Looking down at him, he didn't seem to be unsettled. Except the occasional gaze at their company, he seemed content to simply caress her back. He didn't seem to have any intention to move anytime soon…

"We wait till nightfall," he said, his hands gliding up and down over her back lazily, till she settled her head on her folded hands on his chest. "These guys are still sharp from the hunt and the others are too close for comfort. We will wait it out. They'll get tired and we will slip through their lines."

That sounded simple enough. Waiting till nightfall, however… that would be hours. And she was anything but tired. Looking up again, she had to suppress a grin: Rion had simply thrown on arm over his face, obviously comfortable with dozing the day away. Right he was, after all the trouble lately… maybe an extra nap wasn't such a bad idea…

"Why do you call me "Phin?" she finally asked suddenly. "I wanted to ask this weeks ago!"

Lifting his arm slightly, he gave one of his sly grins. "Don't get me wrong," he started, "your name sounds great… but it's also far too long for someone as tiny as you."

Snarling, she punched him playfully, not minding the worgen, who just walked through them. "Funny thing is," she said after a moment, one finger tracing the stitching on his leather vest, "my parents used to call me that, too…"

"They must have seen the odds, that their big girl didn't get as big as they thought?" he teased, again earning him another punch.

She shook her head, laughing lightly. "I've never been a "big girl"," she said, trying to remember her parents – and failing. "I've been ill when I was born. Small and pale and sickly. My mother was worrying all the time and she almost constantly visited the healers. Due to that, I was also never allowed to play with the other children; my parents feared that I would get hurt by their wild games…" Was is strange, that she felt the urge to tell something about her childhood? – Well, they had all the time in the world now… Why not start now?

"That sounds sad," Rion said after a while. "I'm afraid it had been the contrary in my case. I was too healthy and fought on a daily basis with the other boys…"

"Why the fighting?"

"Don't elven kids fight?"

"No, they play."

Silent chuckles. "Must be a human thing then…"

As a matter of fact, this was a dangerous situation. One of the mages could be an expert in wards or so, and able to finally discover them. Maybe they waited somewhere, laying low and waiting, just like them, for their target to emerge from their hiding place…

The trackers were still skimming around them, occasionally striding right through them. And here they were, laying on the ground… talking. This was more than just surreal…

"So, do you have any idea, where to go after this?" Rions voice penetrated her dreamy thoughts after a while.

Not bothering to move, she pondered. Yes, where to go from here? Once it was dark, they would slip their unaware and tired company and jump down the cliffs. They only needed to walk the ocean a few yards, before she would cross the invisible shield. Once there, they could go anywhere. What about her house in Dalaran?

_No way_, she thought frowning. _Too many Horde, and maybe they're already there waiting. Until things calm down about this, it's better to keep my distance from it_. There was still the lonely-mountain-with-a-cave option… However, could she expect him to live in a forsaken cave for years to come? He was a human after all, even just one year was a long time for them…

Booty Bay? – No, too many cut-throats, and there was probably a decent sum on her head…

Maybe Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands? The Argent Crusade would surely take them in, once she explained their situation – they would believe her, she had many friends among them and during the Northrend Campaign she helped them out on many occasions. But then again, she would have to look over her shoulder permanently for assassins sent by Sylvanas and Horacio; the Eastern Plaguelands were after all, more or less, the backyard of the Undercity…

And what about her lone parents house in the Ghostlands of Quel'Thalas? Sure, the place was infested by Scourge undead, but still… a bit cleaning and the place could be lived in. But it would be just the same as the mountain-cave-option.

Then it dawned to. Grinning down at him, with glee in her eyes, she asked, "Have you ever been in the "City of Light"?"

Wide eyes answered her smile. Uncertain he regarded her waiting silence, scratching his chin. "Outland…?"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

The Undercity was an unearthly place. Dark and gloomy one would wonder, what kind of being would want to live down here. However, that kind of questions were answered the moment you would look at the inhabitants, creatures who gave themselves the name "The Forsaken". And forsaken they were.

As outcasts of Azeroth itself, they dwelled in this underground bastion of their stubborn resistance against anyone who would oppose their most basic claim to live, even if they knew firsthand that it was a cursed life. It was the only one they had left. Some of them had been farmers in their previous life, simple humans who barely knew how to read and who only worried about the next harvest. Others have been soldiers, powerful warriors; scholars, too, were among them, mighty mages and priests. They were all part of a gigantic machine now, some only tiny gears, other bigger ones, and each and every one of them as important as the other. And on top of it all, their, in their eyes, goddess-like Queen. They were more than the remains of a once proud kingdom, they were a _new _kind of people – because _she _made them that way, and they were proud of it, it gave them a new sense, a new meaning to exist!

However, even after many years and many more battles, there were still those who want to wipe them off existence, to free the world from them and their undead disease.

Horacio had heard them all in his new life. All these so called explanations, why the Forsaken or the world itself would be better off, if they would simply vanish. Garrosh had tried it, when he used them as cannon fodder at the Greymane Wall two years ago. And he didn't even bother to declare, that he had anything else in mind than the simple extinction of their race.

The moment the Dark Lady returned from Northrend with the Valkyr, to take over command and to boost the Forsakens forces with newly risen recruits, the whole Horde gasped in shock and disgust, finally showing their true attitude about their undead "allies".

Now at least they, the Forsaken, knew their place in this world once again, which turned out to be even more merciless than they claimed to be themselves. Even their own allies turned from them, though they claimed otherwise, of course – they needed them and their army. At least they would know, when orcs or others would plan an attack or anything. Thanks to the magic of the Banshees, in life powerful high elven nobles, they could put their disguised informants anywhere in every Horde town, some of them even in small Alliance outposts.

Still, a pity that even their magic could not fool a worgen. Their sharp noses would catch the scent of every Horde member within seconds, making it impossible to sent their own people into Gilneas, this land of promises with plenty of unused raw material and space for them to expand. And its inhabitants? Well, they were already outcasts themselves. Horacio still didn't understand, why they rejoined the Alliance. From what he knew, these dogs were almost as isolated within their faction as the Forsaken were in theirs.

_A new bunch of "Forsaken"_, the High-Executor thought, grinning at the irony. _Cursed and everything, but not undead_. That might be the key-factor why Varian Wrynn accepted them back. A pity, that Garrosh had rushed his army against the Alliance during those negotiations. Otherwise, the King of Stormwind might have refused to allow Genn and his dogs back in.

Horacio shook his head, while he walked along the greenish channelwaters of the Undercity, his destination already in sight. Garrosh was a fine tactician, and he would probably grow into his role as warchief, but he tended to rush things instead of simply waiting. Being passive and wait for the right moment to strike, that was something that Brute could learn from the Forsaken... if he would live long enough, that was. Something told him, that not only the Banshee Queen's patience wasn't endless: things were stirring on the Echo Isles; it was well known among the Horde that Vol'jin openly defied Hellscream. And since Garrosh killed the Tauren's chieftain Cairn (even with unfair methods, never mind that he hadn't intended them), it was no surprise, that Thunderbluff kept its distance to Orgrimmar as well...

But this wasn't about the inner politics of the Horde, and unfortunately, even with patience the best plans could be for naught, if ill fortune would cross them as thoroughly as it happened during their last assault against Gilneas. – While walking past the stoic Royal Guards, who stood every few paces along the corridor, that let to their beloved Queen's throne room, Horacio frowned deeply. He was well aware that he made mistakes, too, that day...

The corridor opened into a high room, round in its shape with pillars and little alcoves; in the center, a high platform rose up before him, he had to go side wards to the stairs to get on it and to finally face her: the most wonderful and beautiful of the Forsaken, the Banshee Queen.

A true Forsaken would never get used to her flawless appearance. Kneeling down, head bowed, he balled his fist over the place, where his heart used to be, in silent salute and honor. Normally a Forsaken would never bow or kneel to anyone, but she was the one and only exception.

"Rise, High-Executor," her voice rasped. It echoed from the walls surrounding them, yet there was some otherworldly sound, that made his hairs stand upright and his bones shutter. "Report."

"My Lady, the enemy is roused," he began, after standing upright again. "It is safe to assume, that they are finally aware of our field-agents. Since one of our primary targets survived the assault, he might have guessed that he had been sold out by spies within his own band. I am afraid, my Lady, that we will have to work out the situation without further insight."

"Wasn't Gharion Wallace _your _assigned target?" the Banshee Queen said, her red glowing eyes piercing his, yet he didn't flinch.

"Yes, my Lady," Horacio answered with a bow. "However, I am afraid I failed to do it as properly as I should have. I take full responsibility for this."

Sylvanas shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. "I know you do, and you will accept the consequences – by making sure that the ones responsible will be punished the way you know I mean." Those red eyes, usually the Forsakens eyes had an eerie yellowish glow, were gleaming so bright, the whole room seemed to be bathed in red for a short moment – yet long enough to make her point clear.

Horacio smiled, as he returned his Queens glare. "Rest assured, my Lady, the blood elf Moonshadow will be brought forth to you, alive. As for the Duke, it will be my utmost pleasure to bring you the worgens head personally."

"Make sure to keep his remains in good shape," she snapped. "A worgens face it hard enough to recognize, and I... have plans with Genn's nephew..."

Horacio's eyes flared up at this in anticipation. "And what, if I may ask, might these plans be, my Lady?"

The Banshee Queen smiled. It was a malicious one, that would normally send people into high alert; however, not the High-Executor. "I will share these plans with you as soon as you will return to me with news of your targets whereabouts. Until that, my High-Executor, rest assured that our enemies will not forget our message."

* * *

><p>Shattrath was the city also known as the "City of Light". Once a gigantic temple build by the Draenei to honor the Holy Light, embodied by interspacial creatures knows as the Naaru, the city has lived through many changes in the near past. Now is was a sanctuary for the refugees of countless races and two worlds. It was ruled by the Sha'tar and their leader A'dal, and guarded by the priests who once lived here.<p>

These priests were divided, though. The majority held vast onto their tradition, the others, however, calling themselves the Aldor, refused to forgive the atrocities done to them in the past. Their clear enemy was the Burning Legion, and all who had ever had contact to them. Which included the Scryers, Blood Elves once in the service of Prince Kael'thas, who got himself and his followers corrupted by the demons. In the following, Shattrath became a silent battlefield between the Aldor and the Scryers, who now lived there.

But still there was hope for the future. In face of the all over thread of the Burning Legion, both factions reluctantly set aside their differences and forged a new order, known as the Scattered Sun Offensive. Thanks to this new alliance, they haven't been able to drive the demons out of Outland, but at least weaken them and take back several key positions, like the Temple of Karabor in Shadowmoon Valley and Tempest Keep in Netherstorm.

Both Aldor and Scryers were still not on friendly terms with each other, they eyed the other suspiciously, and in the midst of this melting-pot of different cultures and races it was unusual, if a member of the Scryers asked an Aldor-Priest to do a wedding-ceremony for her…

"What do you think, their kid will going to look like?"

Two Scryer Arcanists walked along the Terrace of Light, which held the great temple where A'dal resided. Both men were caught up in their chat, not bothering the training sessions of the Scattered Sun soldiers or the other arcanists and priests.

"Does it bother you?" the other asked.

"No, why should it?" the first gave back irritated. "I just mean that… well, will they look like him… like some wolf-man or so? Or just like any half-blood? It's just an interesting thought, nothing more. It would be interesting to know, how far this worgen-curse goes, you know? Does it only affect those, who got bitten, or does is affect the next generation, too? You have to admit, from a scientific point of view, it would be worth to find out…"

"Oh yes, sure…" The second shrugged. "At least, you will not have to wait long for any offspring. Did you see, how he looked at her?" He shuttered involuntarily. "If she isn't with child already, I bet my whole library that she will be in very near future…"

"Don't remind me," the first gave back, also shaking by the memory. "He looked at her, as if he wanted to eat her – and I mean it literally!" He paused. "But you are right, if she doesn't prevent any pregnancy, than she should be – how do humans say? – get knocked up very soon."

"Do you know, if they are staying here in Shattrath?"

"I overheard a conversation between her and Voren'thal. Obviously, he offered her and her husband a refuge here, but she refused. They want to occupy some of the forsaken Sun Fury residents in Terokkar Forest."

"Is that save?"

"I think so… and if not, I wouldn't worry about Sera and her wolf-man. I would pity the beasts that live there…"

Laughter answered. "Very true, my friend."

Scryers were known to be careful in any surrounding, except maybe in their own terrace high above the city. But these two did not notice the huddled figure, who seemed to coincidently taking the same route. He halted, following them with his eerie glowing eyes. However, instead of taking the path down to the Lower Circle, where the common folk resided, the huddled figure turned and walked over to the temple. There it headed for the Horde-Portals.

It chose the portal to the Undercity.

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

* * *

><p>Of course it's <em>not<em> the end. After all, both our heroes are still very much alive (according to those Scryer guys) and with Horacio, a good old friend will join in the family life as well. With Blackthorn (_if_ he makes it), they could both solicit as god-parents… No, they wouldn't, but you get the meaning ;)

Anyway, this story is finished. Maybe (but I don't think so…) I'll write some following-up or so… maybe with some kids and Horacio and so on… But until then, I hope, you enjoyed reading the story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it (though I have to admit, there were times, I simply refused to look at it…).

Yours, Talosee


End file.
